I, Romulan Story 02 Birds Over the Capitol
by kasviel
Summary: SLASH. YAOI. The continuation of my Romulan soap opera, centering around the relationship of Tomalak and Bochra, and the ongoing fallout of the bond that formed after the Galorndon Core Incident.


**PART TWO**

**1**

The sea breeze was blowing soft and warm throughout the Romulan Capitol City. The streets were filled with boisterous crowds, all dressed in the modern cuts of clothing: the men in nice, sharp trousers and fitted shirts, the women in breezy skirts, or slinky blouses. Many were in their military uniforms, walking solemnly among the masses, lending a sense of fear and respect. The warm season was leaving, breathing its last pleasant sigh through the proud, brooding metropolis.

A simple, plain complex stood with all windows open, the curtains gently floating in the wind. It was a very quiet House, which was a sign of low importance, but the mood hanging over it was that of resigned peace. An older man in a black, massive chair that moved seemingly autonomously was in the main doorway, watching the outskirts of the city go by from a distance. He was reflective, and a bit sad. His eyes were those of another, younger Romulan, though without the spark of life that one still retained.

The older man watched some native birds resting atop the roof of a smaller building, and reflected upon the Warbirds out in space. Dignity, grace, savageness, suspicion, boldness: all the things that embodied this Empire. No, the man thought, no, _that _Empire. He was fading so thoroughly that he hardly felt a part of it anymore. How long until he simply faded into nothingness without realizing it? Perhaps that one choice had been wrong . . . Perhaps he should not have let Tomalak talk him out of suicide. Funny, that out of all the years he had known the Riov, that had been the only un-Romulan thing the man had ever done.

His only weakness.

Gavik reflected upon it, upon his old friend Tomalak. He wondered if anyone else in the Empire knew this single weakness of his: how he could not stand the idea of losing those he loved. It was probably unknown, otherwise it no doubt would have been used against him by now by one of his many enemies.

A loud sound suddenly broke the peace of the day. The birds scattered into the sky with cackling, shrill sounds of displeasure. Gavik could sympathize. He exhaled, wondering what could possibly be the matter on a day like this.

A voice was trailing out of the main building, young and furious. A slew of profanities native to Romulus sounded through the peaceful day.

"I had better go attend to my faelirh [Romulan: "son"] ," Gavik sighed to one remaining bird, a beautiful green and black specimen that was a little larger than the others had been. It cocked his head at him questioningly, and Gavik smiled a bit to himself, sympathizing with the confusion.

Inside, a tall, thin youth was screaming at a subordinate, who was desperately apologizing and attempting to leave. He finally dismissed him with an impatient wave of the hand, turning his back on the room and glaring out some large, open windows.

"You have been serving Tomalak for too long," Gavik chuckled, causing the boy to look around in surprise. "You're starting to act like the Riov."

Bochra's face flushed a little bit. "Well-" He lifted his chin, quickly recovering. "It is a compliment to be compared to such a man."

Gavik looked amused, though his eyes were a bit hurt. "Indeed," he said quietly.

Bochra glanced around at him, caught the look, and quickly turned back to the windows. He considered apologizing, but the moment for it passed in deliberation.

"Though the temper is all yours," Gavik went on. "Tell me, faelirh, what is wrong?"

Bochra drew a breath, puffing up with outrage again. "Our next mission was delayed," he said\ "I wasn't even sent a reason _why_!"

"And for how long?"

Bochra was sulking, leaning his back against the frame of the windows, arms crossed. "A month. Possibly a month and a half."

"Well, you will be here for the Eitreih'ch'Rihan," Gavik smiled. "Saeihr should be pleased."

Bochra drew a breath, shutting his eyes momentarily. These were two of the three reasons why he wanted to leave. The Eitreih'ch'Rihan was a Festival celebrating their planet and race, arguably the most important Festival of all the year. On this day, all formalities of rank and social standing were ignored, and all were treated as equals to represent the importance of every last part of the society, and the unity of the Romulan people. It was to be shared with those closest and most important to you.

Which was why he did not wish to spend it with Saeihr. The two had become close, very close, since he had come back bearing the secret knowledge of her father Jarok's defection. However, as much as he valued her friendship, he did not want anything more from her than that. The lines between friendship and mate were on the verge of being blurred, and he knew celebrating the Eitreih'ch'Rihan with her would send their relationship to that other, deeper side.

Which was exactly what his father wanted.

"She is a fine girl of an excellent House," Gavik was saying now. His chair whirred softly as it brought him to the windows, beside Bochra. "Marrying into her family would be quite an advantage."

"We share no bond at all," Bochra scoffed. "How can you make such insinuations?"

"No bond, not _yet_," Gavik said. "Who is to say you never will? These things take much time, after all."

"They take time, and we are both too young to even think about them," Bochra said, feeling the pressure building in his chest; he was worn out of talking about Saeihr. "She is hardly more than a child, after all."

"You are not much older than that yourself."

"All the more reason not to _think _about it," Bochra said stormily, turning his back on the view and marching further into the room. He paced around restlessly. The beautiful weather was getting on his nerves, as was his father, as were his thoughts of Saeihr. He had been looking forward to escaping it all so much, and now . . .

With a frustrated exhale, Bochra took his over-shirt from where he had left it lying on the sofa. He slung on the green, gold-trimmed, tunic-length shirt and tied it around the waist. Gavik wheeled around to watch him. "Are you going out to not think about it, then?"

"I am going out to go out," Bochra said simply. "Jolan'tru [Romulan greeting/parting expression] ."

Gavik nodded, and his son was gone before he knew it. He reflected for a while, and decided that if Bochra was being so defensive, it meant there were feelings to defend. He chuckled, smiling out at the sky and city. It was a very promising thing his son had with Saeihr. He envied him.

In the hall, Bochra almost collided with a woman. He backed off, apologizing moodily. The bright-eyed, if plain-faced, lady raised her eyebrows at him, and scolded, "Your apology is almost as bad as your manners."

Bochra sighed, feeling as if he could not get a break this day. "Thlhom veherr'a [Formal apology] ," he said a bit acridly.

"Hmph. Well, at least that _sounds _more polite," the woman said. She was wearing a small utility belt around her traditional trousers and tunic. Due to her dress and short hair, she was almost androgynous, save for her dark lips and long-lashed eyes. "I thought I heard yelling. Were you arguing with the hru'Hfirh ["Head of House/hold"] ?"

"No, Rhioa, no," grumbled Bochra. He took her by the shoulders. "I was . . . dealing with a subordinate, that's all. I am going out now, please-"

"I understand," Rhioa said. "But watch your temper out there. Do not forget that you are representing your House."

_And such a grand House, at that, _Bochra thought sarcastically. However, he merely said to his longtime servant and caretaker, "Of course, dear woman, of course."

Rhioa warmed a little and nodded in approval. He made his escape while he could.

The streets of the Capitol were warm and had a festive mood in the air. Doubtless, everyone was preparing for the great festival coming up already. _How nice for them,_ the young, angry soldier thought bitterly. He stomped through the crowds bitterly, past children pretending to shoot toy disruptor pistols and mutilate effigies of Klingons, servants shopping for decorations and special foods, and the young adults or near-adults animatedly making plans to meet with one another. Bochra's fast pace slowed eventually, and his temper began to cool. It was hard to remain discontent among so much joy. He almost wished he could feel the same way, and simply forget everything else.

_And why __**don't **__I? _he wondered. _Why __**am**__ I so preoccupied?_

As his walk took him into the most prestigious regions of the city's residential areas, he began to realize the answer. Looking a little out of place among the expensively-clothed citizens here, Bochra decided he might as well go ahead with what he had been avoiding for the past weeks. He forged on, until he came to a very large home. People were going and coming by the dozens, and the huge main building loomed over all others surrounding it. It was gated securely, and put behind the busy streets, so it had a feeling of isolation even in this bustling city. There was an air of foreboding to the complex, and the plainly-dressed Bochra drew more than a few suspicious looks as he approached. He wished he had worn his uniform, if only for show.

Only one person was welcoming, and it was the one person he himself disliked more than any other here. It was not her fault at all, she had always been a friend of the family, but Tomalak's wife S'vrian held a position that made her at odds with him by default. Of course, the woman had no clue of this.

"Jolan'tru! Ahh, Bochra, how long has it been?" she asked after he greeted her. "Forgive me, it is khre'Arrain ["Senior Centurion" - Akin to the Starfleet rank of Lieutenant Commander ] Bochra now, isn't it?"

Bochra smiled a little, nodded. S'vrian was a harmless, somewhat scatterbrained woman, a sculptor by trade. It seemed to go without saying that those who pursued the arts were naturally duller and more fanciful than the mostly-military population. Her disposition showed in her lovely, ultra-modern attire; she wore a tight-fitting dress of a silky fabric, deep red and trimmed with gold along the edge of the off-shoulder sleeves and the mandarin collar, and had her black hair held high atop her head in an intricate style. Her face was thin, an oval bordering on the longer side, with striking cheekbones and sharp, wispy features. If the tall, svelte woman did not act so flighty, she might have had a real majesty to her.

"Yes, congratulations, congratulations," S'vrian said kindly, her voice vibrant and musical. The airy, silvery tone Tomalak used when lying, his wife used with perfect sincerity. "What brings you by? It has been a while since I've seen you in this part of the city."

"Ihhei [Romulan: "Madam"] S'vrian, I have business with your husband," Bochra said, using his most formal and polite manner of speaking. "Is Riov Tomalak home?"

"No, he is out at the moment," S'vrian said thoughtfully. She trailed off, until she noticed the disappointment on Bochra's face. "Why don't you go after him?" she chuckled.

"I-I wouldn't want to disturb-"

"Nonsense, I'm certain he would not mind, so long as it is a fellow soldier," S'vrian said. Something unreadable flashed through her eyes, but it was gone before Bochra was certain he had seen it. "He is out training, you see, outside the city. If you take the road in the back of the house, you will find the smaller facilities; Tomalak is in the fighting studio."

"O-oh." _I never knew that he practiced any form of martial art, _Bochra thought.

"Yes, he does practice whenever he has the chance here," S'vrian said, as if reading the youth's mind. At times, she was more perceptive than anyone would expect her to be. "His father taught him, and he has continued the tradition. Hmm, though not through our son . . . he never had much interest in it."

Bochra did not know what to say to her ramblings, and so he said nothing.

"Anyway, he should be happy to see you," S'vrian said with a smile upon her thin, red lips. "Just don't allow him to waste all your time showing off his skills. He has been known to do that."

"Thank you, Ihhei S'vrian."

"Not at all, not at all! Now, if you would excuse me, I should make it to the markets for some supplies. The servants never bring the right batch of clay," S'vrian said. "You must visit us here more often, and I should come by your father's house soon for a dinner. Jolan'tru!"

"Jolan'tru, Ihhei S'vrian."

Feeling like he had survived a whirlwind, Bochra headed out of the main complex in a haze. He felt guilty for hating S'vrian so deeply, but still could not help it. This air-headed woman was Tomalak's wife, and the one with whom he shared a life bond with. As marriage was usually permanent and life bonds were unshakable, S'vrian alone held the place closest to the man's heart, and there was no question she always would. Even if she found out about Bochra's relationship with her husband, she would probably pay no mind to it, being so secure about her position. It was easy to forget her while alone with Tomalak in the Galae [Romulan Star Navy] , but here on the home planet, Bochra felt as expendable and insignificant as he was.

The road leading out to the small facilities was empty and peaceful. Bochra marveled at how little sound from the city reached him at first, and then how all noise disappeared. Some birds watched from the roofs of surrounding trees and buildings, but no other people- at least, none the eye could see. It was a refreshing reprieve.

Much of the small complexes way out here were for use in outdoor celebrations, and were thus dormant. There were telltale poles and stands set up for the upcoming Eitreih'ch'Rihan, but no servants yet in the kitchen building preparing. Bochra knew that on the night of the festival, there would be literally hundreds gathered here, none of little import; many politicians and high-ranking members of the Galae came to Tomalak's parties because they were, simply, some of the best in the Capitol. Tomalak had always valued appearance and grandeur above all.

The more he walked, the more Bochra realized just how massive the property was. It had always looked impressive from the front, but that facade could never even begin to allude to the complex's actual scope. There was even a bridge spanning the river that flowed into the Capitol from the Apnex Sea, and the very end of the property was across this.

It was here, at the most secluded edge of the property, that the training building lay. It was a relatively small, open building with many windows. On the one side, it was devoid of all plant life save for a worn-down patch of grass, and on the other, there were a myriad of small, decorative trees and some artfully-placed sculptures depicting the strength of the Romulan form. The door was open, and so Bochra hesitantly edged in, looking around.

He saw nothing, but a movement caught the corner of his eye. Before his mind could register the action, he turned and caught a hand right before it snapped into his neck. A bit alarmed, it took him several moments until it dawned on him that Tomalak was smirking at his side.

"This is a surprise," the commander remarked, taking his hand away. He chuckled, motioning the youth inside. "Your instincts are quite adequate. Do you practice any martial art?"

Bochra stared at him, wondering if he truly would have gotten a chop to the throat if his instincts had _not _been 'adequate'. "N-no, I don't. I had no idea that you did, Riov Tomalak."

"You should."

Tomalak was appraising a pillar about the height of a man with lights dimly glowing in several areas, looking at it as if it were a flesh-and-blood enemy. He looked thinner without his military uniform, sleeker in the slim black pants, black button-less jacket, and dark green shirt. There was no warning of movement from him, but he had suddenly struck the dummy. One light went red. Bochra saw that it was a guide to the pressure and breakage points of a person, or whatever being you programmed it to simulate.

"My family has practiced Tenalri [Romulan combat form developed "in the streets" but later legitimized.] for many years, even competed in the public matches- victoriously of course," Tomalak informed Bochra. "I even frequent the matches when I have the chance. Being stationed out there for so long, I hadn't realized how much I missed it."

"I'm glad you're happy about this extension of our home visit."

Tomalak's dark eyes slid to the youth briefly. "Are you unhappy about it?"

"Somewhat."

"Ah." Tomalak attacked the electronic dummy again with a kick. "You should use the time to take up a practice. I use Tenalri, but I'm also competent with Kormorek [A swift, brutal Romulan fighting style. When two combatants meet on the field, one of them, at least, is going to leave it bloody, if he leaves it at all. It is not uncommon for both to be covered in their own blood at the end of a match. Though blocking is permitted in the conventions of the style, blocking and dodging are considered cowardly and combatants do not fend off the strikes of their opponents.]."

"Really?" Bochra exclaimed.

Tomalak grinned, looking rather bloodthirsty. "I don't like it to be publicized, but yes."

Bochra crossed his arms. "No wonder your hands are so hard."

Tomalak looked at him, smugness lining his face. "Are they?"

He touched the youth's face, and drew him closer by the waist. Taking a cursory glance out all the windows and door, he then leaned into a smooth, easy kiss. Bochra kissed back fiercely, and clutched onto the man's jacket, pulling him closer.

"Mmph. Enough." Tomalak drew back, giving the young man a swat on the bottom. He moved out of the embrace and with a somewhat rattled exhale, went back to the training dummy. "Not while we're home. You know the reasons."

"I know them," Bochra said glumly. He watched his superior for a few moments, before finally adding, "I just don't think they're strong enough."

Again, Tomalak stopped, and faced the young man. "Are you questioning me?"

"No, ihhai [Romulan: "sir", used outside military situations]," Bochra said quickly. "But, I thought we would be leaving soon, and now we have _weeks_ to wait! I . . . I miss you."

"You have no claim to me here," Tomalak said, though he softened the words slightly. "It is for _your _own protection. I would not enjoy being labeled the things I would be labeled, but these things happen and are swept under the rug with enough care. You, however, would suffer great disrespect and scorn for belonging to another man. It would ruin your life, your career, all of it."

"I know that."

"And those are not strong enough reasons for you?"

Bochra turned his face, saying nothing.

"Don't be so stubborn," Tomalak said in amusement. "Our assignments are being shuffled, and it could be to our benefit. My ship may be undertaking a more important mission."

"Well, that is good, but . . . "

"Besides," Tomalak's tone began to turn strict, and his eyes narrowed, "I hear you have been keeping yourself busy. I thought you would be glad to be able to spend the Eitreih'ch'Rihan with that girl."

Bochra shifted on his feet. "Saeihr?"

"Yes, that daughter of Jarok."

"You disapprove?" Bochra asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. He had not spoken with Tomalak regarding the girl before, and had not imagined his lover would care much about his relationship with her.

"Yes, I do, as would anyone- _if _they knew of her father's treachery," Tomalak said sourly. "But they do not, do they? No, because I let you convince me to maintain his legacy."

"You agreed it was for the good of the people not to lose faith in such an important soldier," Bochra reminded him. "Besides, Saeihr has nothing to do with her father's actions!"

"How do we know that?" Tomalak asked. "If Jarok was running a conspiracy, his family would be the first ones involved, true?"

"He was not involved in any conspiracy, Riov Tomalak," Bochra said certainly. "He was a bitter, sentimental fool that acted alone to prevent a war that _you _made up to trap him. His wife and daughter had nothing to do with it."

"Well, then there is nothing to stop you from celebrating with her, is there?"

"I suppose not," Bochra said heatedly.

A stormy silence fell. Tomalak hit the dummy harder than he had before, frustrated more with himself than with Bochra. He sounded jealous, and he knew it. Why- no, _how_ could he be jealous? They were merely children, Bochra was nothing more than a little plaything, and yet-

Yet what? Was he not much too old for such petty, emotional problems to arise? Why was he here creating them?

"I don't see why you would care to object," Bochra said now. "I haven't said a word about your celebrating with your _ailhun _[Romulan: "wife"]."

Tomalak gave him a wary glance. "You do not object because you have no right to," he said sternly. "Whatever we are does not matter; you have _no authority_ to even mention my wife."

"Tch."

Tomalak finally gave up on the dummy. "You're jealous?" he asked curiously. "Of her?"

"Yes," Bochra said ruefully, "I am."

"That is an unusual sentiment for a man," Tomalak said thoughtfully. He briefly patted the youth's hair, and went to shut the door of the small building. "If I had no wife, it would make no difference. It isn't as if we could be married."

Bochra's felt annoyance at the man's callous laughter. "No, but your life bond."

Tomalak stopped laughing, back to Bochra. It was not a thought he had not entertained himself, but to hear it from the boy as well! How strong was their relationship becoming? How strong could it _become_?

"We could have had that."

Without looking at him, Tomalak said, "What makes you believe I would have ever formed a life bond with you?"

Bochra was stung by the words. He blinked in shock for a moment, unable to speak. "I . . . I know you . . . " He went up to Tomalak and turned the taller man around to face him. "I know you love me!"

Tomalak smiled, though it was a overshadowed by a wistful sadness. "Bochra . . . You are very young, aren't you?"

"What?"

"I _do _love you," Tomalak told him, "but it does not _matter_. It is . . . an ugly, dirty secret, a burden to bear. It is to be kept beneath the surface of our outward lives. I was not advising against your relationship with Saeihr out of jealousy, but out of platonic concern for your standing in the Empire. Neither of us is entitled to jealousy, do you understand?"

"I still . . . "

"Don't say it," Tomalak said wearily. "Do not even think it. A life bond between us is, and always would have been, impossible."

Bochra tried to turn his face, but Tomalak held it by the chin. "Just as being together here is impossible," he added.

"But, Riov, I can't stand it!" Bochra said impatiently. He clung to Tomalak's arms. "I miss you."

"So do I miss you," Tomalak said softly. He kissed the youth briefly. "But it cannot be. You must stop acting like a child and accept it."

He left Bochra, going around the little building closing up the windows. "Your tendency to defy is what got you into so much trouble after Galorndon Core," he said reproachfully. "If it had been any other Riov, you would have been doomed."

"If I had _not _fought with you after Galorndon Core, we would not be together."

"Yes, and I would have one less complication in my life!" grumbled Tomalak. "Do you think that I have the time to deal with you, Bochra? That I, _I_, have nothing better to do than cater to the whims of a young concubine?"

Now it was Bochra who was watching Tomalak with a bemused smile. The commander closed out all the daylight of the little studio, complaining as he did about what a selfish, indulged child his lover was.

"I suppose, in the end, it is my own fault," Tomalak muttered as he drew close the last window. "Why did I ever- Why do I still indulge you?"

To his surprise, Bochra's arms slid around him from behind, and he felt the young man's chin rest on his shoulder. "I don't know," the boy murmured into the man's ear. "Why _do _you?"

"Probably because you _are_-" Tomalak turned to face him, smiling. "-a young concubine. Insatiable little brat."

Bochra grinned as he leaned into a kiss. He felt Tomalak giving in to him, his resolve slipping away, and took the opportunity to become more aggressive. Tomalak met him with equal drive, reigning him in to keep his place as the dominant, and in the process they slammed into the wall, tumbled through the spartan room.

"You are impossible," Tomalak told him, forcing him down onto hand and knee. "I practically _ordered _you to never come to me as a lover while we are home, and look at you. Do you thrive on disobedience?"

Bochra winced as the commander struck his bottom with an open, rigid palm. "T-Tomalak . . . " He leaned his head down on his arms, face hot and blushing. "Aow!"

"Did you expect to go against my orders without any punishment?"

"Mmph . . . "

Tomalak spanked the errant youth sharply, but there was neither malice nor displeasure on his face. Rather, he was affectionate and a little troubled. He knew that in the end, he would give in to the boy and have him, regardless of his previous orders, and that was frightening. He was not a man of compromise, his word had always been law . . . except with this willful child.

It was a power Bochra had over him that no amount of discipline could ever conceal. Bochra did not mean him harm, true, but he did have a nasty habit of taking advantage of this power. If it went on, the relationship could not only endanger Bochra, but Tomalak as well. He could not afford to be influenced by anyone so young and naive.

Bochra, meanwhile, had worries of his own. As he lay half-prostrated on the floor beneath Tomalak's punishing hand, he suddenly became keenly aware of his submission. He had never considered himself weak, so why- no, _how _could he accept this? He was a grown man of good rank, and, lover or not, Tomalak had no right whatsoever to treat him like a child. He knew if he seriously objected to it, that Tomalak would respect him enough to cease the humiliating method of discipline, but he had yet to make such an objection. He wondered if he ever would.

_No, I won't,_ Bochra thought, wincing beneath a stinging swat. _It's easy to fall into the role of being the child with him. He practically raised me with such discipline, and it isn't a pattern I find myself able to break. I trust him. I appreciate him. I don't want to lose him as a mentor yet, even if I am too old . . . _

_But there is also . . . _

Bochra exhaled, squinting his eyes shut momentarily. He did not think the words implicitly, but he felt the sentiment all the same: it was physically gratifying. He could not say he liked the pain, but he liked . . . the act. It was arousing and cathartic at once. Had this strange fetish formed from being disciplined by Tomalak all those years . . . or had he always had it and had never realized it fully until now?

"Ah!" Bochra gave a pained shout. "Your hand _is _hard."

"Not hard enough to deter you, however." Tomalak stopped the spanking and leaned over the youth's thin, long body. He paused for a moment, staring intently at the youth which inspired such perplexing, complicated emotions in himself. Then, he kissed the boy's shoulder, and turned his warm, flushed face to his own. "Is it?"

Bochra smiled sheepishly. "No, ihhai."

Tomalak sighed, and then kissed him fervently. "Oh well," he finally conceded, running a hand over the green bruises he had left on the man's backside. He removed his jacket and began undressing, as Bochra propped himself up again and assisted. Tomalak took him into his arms, losing his willpower with each small kiss to his neck, chest, face. A mistake, yes a mistake, but why did it have to be such a damned _pleasurable_ mistake?

"I suppose I can indulge you . . . one more time."

**2**

The two ended up lying on the slightly-cushioned rest mats, some spare robes thrown over their otherwise naked frames. Bochra had his cheek resting on Tomalak's chest, as the commander distantly stroked his short black hair.

"Perhaps I will tell them that I have deigned to train you in Tenalri," Tomalak said suddenly. "No one will think anything of your coming and going if you are a student."

"Why not make it true?" Bochra asked, turning his face to look up at the man. "I would like to train under you."

"Yes, why not?" Tomalak agreed. He chuckled, however, adding, "Though with your incessant affection, I doubt you will learn very much."

Bochra's face colored. "I would take it seriously."

"Hmph. Of _course_ you would."

Tomalak grinned, and kissed the boy's cheek. Bochra sighed, lying his head back down. He traced a finger down the man's skin, kissed him lazily. Tomalak drew him closer with one arm, squeezed his bottom.

"I will train you, at least while we are home," he told Bochra. "Every man should know as much martial art as he can. It is funny that you have such a desire to be strong, and yet . . . "

Bochra froze. "Yet what?"

"You crumble so completely with me." Tomalak caressed the youth's arm thoughtfully. "Is it deliberate? Or do I just inspire such complete submission?"

"I . . . I don't know," Bochra replied miserably. "I suppose I simply like the way things are. I . . . would rather not change anything."

"Hmm . . . "

"Is-is that wrong? Am I . . . Am I too weak? Am I mentally flawed in some-"

"Shhh." Tomalak hushed him with a kiss. "Calm yourself. You are fine. Anyway, I prefer you like this."

"But-"

"So long as you are outwardly strong, does it matter?" Tomalak pointed out. "No one knows of this, do they? No one can insult you for what they are ignorant of. So, do you see?" He sat up against the wall, pulling Bochra up with him and taking his face in both hands. "Do you see why it is imperative to keep our relationship a secret?"

"Yes sir," Bochra said sullenly.

"Good boy."

Tomalak kissed the center of his forehead, then stood. Bochra tried to pull him back down by the hand, but Tomalak gently pried him off. He gathered his clothing and began to dress. "Now, I must attend to _important_ matters," he said, though the smile on his face made it clear he was merely teasing. "Who let you know I was here, anyway?"

"S'vrian."

"Do not say her name with such distaste," Tomalak said sharply. "Never disrespect her before me."

Bochra bit his tongue, looking darkly at the other side of the room.

"_Bochra_."

Tomalak came over, and Bochra held his hands up in defense. "Ie, ie, ihhai!" he quickly agreed.

"Hmm." Tomalak tousled his hair roughly and left him. He took up Bochra's clothing and tossed them down at him. "Dress. We have been out here too long already."

Bochra grudgingly put his clothes back on, as Tomalak watched him sternly. He was loathe to leave so early, after just having reunited with his new lover, but he could tell he had no choice in the matter.

With one last, lingering kiss, the two parted. Tomalak insisted that Bochra go ahead and avoid as much attention as possible, and Bochra obeyed.

_He __**deigned **__to obey me, anyway, _Tomalak thought a little bitterly as he watched the youth depart. With a sigh, he went back inside the training studio, cleaning up the scattered clothing and disarray. _He was always willful, and despite what I said, his submission is never entirely complete. He is also cunning lately, and tests things to the very edge of tolerance._

Suddenly, Tomalak stopped, and an amazed smile tugged his lips. _He reminds me of myself, actually. That is both alarming and pleasing._

Tomalak finished with the building and locked it up. Then, he retired to the main house. He reflected upon his life, for the first time in a while, and how very far he had come. It was rare for a man to be the heir of a House, as the line was normally passed down maternally, but he had no sisters- none that had survived, in any case. As his wife had no family of her own, being an orphan, she had married into _his _House. All responsibilities fell upon him here, and all the power that went with those responsibilities. Another man might have been daunted or tired of a life eternally mired in such prestigious burdens, but he had never been anything but content. Although he had some personal troubles at the moment, he still felt only pride as he entered the house; everything had always fallen into place satisfactorily for him, and there was no reason to think this little diversion would change that.

S'vrian was in the spacious room she used as a studio for her sculpting, working with clay. She wore a plain, long beige robe over her clothing, and was intent upon her tools. Tomalak watched her, feeling guilty suddenly, from the door frame.

"Did Bochra find you?" she asked without looking at him even once. "He came some time ago looking for you."

"Yes, he brought me his message."

"Which was?"

Tomalak shifted on his feet, though his expression did not waver. "Nothing important," he said easily. "He had questions regarding the delay of our departure, that is all."

"Ah." S'vrian was silent for some moments, sculpting the material with electronic tools and pausing here and there to consider it. "He must have had a great deal of questions, if you only concluded your conversation some minutes ago."

Tomalak did not ask her how she knew this, as there was no need. He stood straighter, ready to go on the defensive. "We got caught up talking about Tenalri," he said. "I agreed to train him."

"The way you trained the last few young, impressionable soldiers under your direct command?"

Now S'vrian turned her delicate, beautiful face from the formless clay and turned her dark, luminous eyes directly upon him. Though her look was chilling, Tomalak was reminded only of how gorgeous she always was. Her piercing intelligence never ceased to impress him.

"I am your chosen mate, Tomalak, do not forget that," S'vrian said softly, approaching him. "You cannot lie to me with that silvery tongue of yours."

Tomalak shook his head, amused. "No. No, apparently I cannot."

S'vrian stood before him, her tall, elegant figure showing even beneath the shapeless robe. "And you likewise know me, the real me," she went on, now touching the fringe of her husband's black hair. "Why attempt it? Tell me, what is this boy to you?"

"A diversion," Tomalak said, removing her hand from his hair. "Think nothing of him. We both agreed to openness long ago, didn't we?"

"Yes, that more modern way of practicing marriage, mating," S'vrian said thoughtfully. "I wonder, however, if that was a mistake?"

Tomalak eyed her. "Surely, you are not jealous? You are much too secure for that."

"No, not jealous," S'vrian said. "But-" She placed both hands palm-down on his chest. "-concerned. Those children you have always been so fond of have caused difficulties for you in the past. I have had to . . . clean up after quite a number of your 'diversions'."

"Not this one, I assure you," Tomalak said confidently. "Bochra is loyal to me."

"Aren't they all?" S'vrian sighed. She moved away from him, to the window, and stared out. "Hmm. That one is Gavik's son, isn't he? Even I never expected you to betray Gavik, you know. I did not think you were capable of surprising me, deyhhan [Romulan: "husband"]."

"I did not set out to betray him," Tomalak said.

"No, but you failed to _not _betray him."

Tomalak lowered his gaze. Sometimes, he hated her ability to voice his own doubts, before he had even acknowledged them himself.

"It is an unnatural and unhealthy relationship," S'vrian said. "Not only does it betray your best friend, to whom you owe your life, but there are the factors of age and gender. You practically raised that boy, since he was small, and now you desire him? It is wrongful."

"I am _aware _of that, S'vrian."

"You are also at a politically volatile crossroad," S'vrian went on. "You wish to oppose the D'Sora Ceremony [The testing of young children for intelligence, for strength, and adaptability. Those children who passed the test are feted to a glorious time of feasting, dressed in magnificent ceremonial robes, and honored at a special religious service, at which time they were given their family name and officially entered into the historical records of the family. Those who did not pass, that is, those who were genetically or intellectually inferior or ill or infirm in any way, were quietly and painlessly put to death and never spoken of again.], make it illegal, and use that step to bring you into the government's machinations. There are many that will stand against you. Should your relationship with this boy become known, it will cast you in a dubious light, and not only will you have no politicians on your side, but you will never be given any political power again. It would ruin your plans to eventually hold a Senatorial seat."

Tomalak exhaled. He had not considered these things, but he could not deny the truth of her words.

"Do what you like with that boy on your ship, but not here," S'vrian said. She turned her face from the window to look at him evenly. "Not here."

Tomalak said nothing. _She is right, of course, and if she already knows about us, how much longer before someone else finds out? My first instinct was right, after all. I suppose my spoiled little lover will simply have to accept that I must refuse him this time. It may be just as well. If he does not learn to accept my rules now, he may never. _

_I only wish __**I **__did not have so much trouble accepting them myself!_

* * *

Back on the streets of the Capitol, Bochra wandered for a while, a bit dazed. With nothing better to do, he headed to the marketplaces, and looked around at clothing. He would need something nice to wear to the festival, he remembered, though he hated the idea of spending money on something so frivolous.

A familiar voice wafted through the crowds suddenly, and he turned to listen.

"Oh no, no, my House could never pay such a meager price for such wares! . . . I insist, I insist!"

Bochra followed the voice until he found Saeihr haggling with a merchant. Being of such a wealthy family, it was customary for her to insist on paying a premium for merchandise, while it was customary for the merchant to desire to reflect the greatness of her family by offering a bargain. Thus it went back and forth, as Bochra watched in amusement. He wished merchants would give _him _such offers, but then that was an honor far above the status of his lowly House. Unwillingly, he remembered what his father had said about marrying into Saeihr's House.

Eventually, the two reached a compromise, and Saeihr left with a bolt of silken, rich jade fabric. She turned around and found her longtime friend behind her. "Oh, Bochra!" she greeted him mirthfully. "Jolan'tru!"

"Jolan'tru, Saeihr."

"Are you shopping for the Eitreih'ch'Rihan?" Saeihr asked, walking with him. "I heard that your departure was delayed, and I was so happy."

Bochra's face fell.

"Oh, I . . . I'm sorry," Saeihr said, bowing her head. "I thought you would be, too. Of course, you must be eager to return to duty, now that you are khre'Arrain."

"Yes, I was looking forward to departing, honestly."

"Sorry," the girl apologized again with a little smile. "I was being selfish."

"Selfish?"

"Yes," Saeihr replied. "I was so happy that you would be here for the Eitreih'ch'Rihan, I never once considered how you might feel about it."

"No, Saeihr, it's fine." Bochra exhaled, staring out at the market streets. Without even thinking much about it, he said, "If there is anything good about the delay, it's that I _will _be able to spend it . . . with you."

"Oh." Saeihr's eyes widened, and she looked down shyly. "Khnai'ra [Romulan: "thank you" between equals]."

"It is only the truth." Bochra intertwined his hand with her small, delicate one; for a moment, he lamented how fragile it felt, compared to Tomalak's. Still, he smiled softly at her. "Saeihr."

Saeihr smiled warmly, that smile her father Alidar Jarok had so loved. Bochra felt a tinge of guilt over Jarok, though he knew there was nothing to be done about that ugly affair now. He squeezed her hand, and they walked, peacefully, through the city.

_Still, what am I doing? _he wondered. _I love Tomalak, only Tomalak. But we could never be truly together, and this girl is beautiful and sweet and good. That is it, isn't it? It isn't because her House would be great to marry into? It isn't because I feel somehow obliged to Jarok to protect her? It isn't because I want to have my own wife to spite Tomalak and his marriage? _

_I wish I knew . . . I wish it was pure and good . . . But nothing ever is, is it?_

**3**

That evening, Bochra was surprised to be summoned to dinner in the formal dining room. To further his confusion, it was announced that Tomalak and his wife S'vrian had joined them for the meal. Gavik was happy to have his old friend present, and spent the evening talking amicably with the couple. Bochra, however, was quiet, and watched the two suspiciously. No one but he could see the displeasure in Tomalak's eyes, or the way he refused to meet Bochra's gaze. As the meal drew on, ended, and the conversation carried to the social room, Bochra felt annoyance and fear churning in his stomach. He had a sense of the purpose of the visit, but did not admit it to himself.

Trying to avoid the inevitable, Bochra excused himself from the company early. He went to the second floor bedroom that was his, and lay down, still dressed, on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, attempting to keep his thoughts from running wild. Dread crept over him steadily, as he thought of Tomalak's pensive, purposeful face.

The door to the room opened without warning, and Bochra sat up like a shot. He knew only one person would barge in with such authority, and his suspicions were justified when his eyes met with Tomalak's. A tense silence passed between the two, one which needed no words. Bochra felt his heart sinking, and his temper rising.

"I won't make excuses or apologize to you, Bochra," Tomalak finally said. "Nor will I explain. I owe you no explanations."

"That isn't true," Bochra said heatedly, standing up from the bed. "Tomalak-"

"That is Riov Tomalak to you, khre'Arrain Bochra."

Bochra winced inwardly at the biting tone. "Riov Tomalak, you-"

"I am standing by my original intentions," Tomalak interrupted; he was eager to say what had to be said and go, as this was more difficult than he had expected. Of course, his own pain did not show at all upon his austere, scowling face. "You will not contact me while we are on Romulus. All messages will be sent through a subordinate. Is that clear?"

"No, it isn't clear!"

Tomalak shut his eyes. "Bochra," he said warningly.

"You were going to cover for us. What happened?" Bochra asked.

"It does not matter," Tomalak said. "I told you, I do not owe you any explanations."

"Yes you do," Bochra insisted. He strode up to the man and grabbed him by the front of his expensive, beautiful high-collared dark silver jacket. "Please . . . ihhai, I . . . "

"Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be."

"You mean, don't make it as difficult as it should be."

Tomalak looked away, uncharacteristically uncertain. Bochra took the opportunity to kiss him, murmuring, "Jol-ao au [Romulan: "I love you"]."

"Stop. Stop, stop!" Tomalak fussed, prying the youth off of himself and holding him by the wrists. "Bochra. Stop being a child and do as I say!"

"No."

"I am your superior!" Tomalak boomed down at him. "You not only _owe me_ respect, you are obligated to obey me! I will not allow this relationship to continue while we are here, and that is all you need know."

"I won't accept that!" Bochra insisted, tearing his wrists out of the man's grasp. "No! It isn't fair!"

"What is _fair_, boy?" Tomalak snarled. "Being able to do as you please with a superior simply because of your personal feelings for them? Using what you call love as a weapon against my rank, my command? You will accept my word!"

"_You _don't even accept your word!" Bochra shouted at him. "Someone knows, don't they? And for all your importance and arrogance, you can't even bring yourself to go against this person! You're the one that is obeying orders! You're the one that is mindlessly doing as you're told!"

Tomalak's eyes glinted furiously.

"So don't talk to me as if I'm too dumb and too naive to understand the truth!" Bochra seethed. "I know _exactly_ what is going on, and it is that you are being weak!"

Tomalak slapped him, hard, across the face. "My _ailhun_ knows about us," he said quietly. "It took her exactly one _day _to find out."

Clutching his cheek, Bochra blinked up at him in shock. S'vrian knew? How _could _she? She came and went like the wind, doing nothing but vaguely rustling those that she passed. Was there more to that woman than he had seen? How could there be? All these years, and he never would have expected an iota of intelligence from her.

"How long until anyone else finds out?" Tomalak continued. "How long until we are both labeled and ostracized? You are young and have only your reputation to lose, which is bad enough, but I have so much at stake, least of all my political future." He shook his head, expression softening; he looked tired, a little older. "I am-"

Bochra's moist eyes widened. Was Tomalak actually on the verge of apologizing? Ironically, the youth actually felt pity for his commander, though he was most likely the one in the most pain.

Tomalak shook his head, stopping himself before he weakened any further. "I have explained more than enough to you," he said. "Do not embarrass yourself any further, khre'Arrain . . . Bochra."

"Tomalak . . . "

"Jolan'tru."

With that curt goodbye, the man swept out of the room hurriedly. Bochra inhaled sharply, and felt hot tears running down his face. He tightened his lips, trying to stop the humiliating flow of weak emotion, but he could not. Shaking with short, quiet sobs, he collapsed onto the floor. He buried his face in his arms, resting them on his knees, and cried to himself helplessly.

Outside, for the first time in his life, Tomalak met his wife's gaze without affection. Her dark eyes flickered briefly in surprise, but she did not say anything as she joined him. They entered their transportation vehicle without a word, which was telling enough to them both.

The man felt cold, and privately shaken. His fingers kept unconsciously running over his warm palm, as if he was trying to telepathically sooth away the stinging handprint he had left on the boy's face. Though he enjoyed using some discipline as a sort of foreplay, he despised injuring the youth emotionally. All he wanted to do was hold him, comfort him. Though he knew it was for the best, he felt a spark of true hatred for S'vrian for bringing that to light. It was disconcerting that he would feel so negatively towards the one he was supposedly bonded to forever, but he could not deny it.

S'vrian watched her husband, surveying his emotions methodically, noting the gesture of running his fingers over his palm, and the light tinge of green that showed it had been impacted recently. She had a good idea of what had happened, but was confused as to why it had affected Tomalak so significantly.

The pair's silence stretched on to engulf the entire ride home, as they each fell into melancholy reflection. It was the first time there was an issue which neither wished to discuss with the other, and a startling occurrence for one of the Capitol's most famous couples.

**4**

The next day, a cooler wind was blowing in from the sea, bringing the cold season nearer. It never became freezing in this area, and the Romulan Capitol did not know conditions such as snow and ice, but the weather could chill, and rains would soon be pouring down mercilessly. The scent of ozone and chill blew into Bochra's room through the open windows, but he had not bothered to shut them through the night. He lay in bed upon waking, and stayed there for hours afterward.

To Rhioa, who called him for breakfast, he called through the door that he had overindulged in the last meal and was not hungry. Fortunately, she was not in a persistent mood, and did not question him. More hours slipped by, and he did not move from his bed.

Around the middle of the day, the door to the room opened. Feeling a shot of fury run through his otherwise depressed mind, he shouted, "Rhioa! I told you that I did not wish to be disturbed!"

"I-I'm sorry," said a voice much younger than Rhioa's. "Your father s-said-"

Bochra sat up among the sheets, hair disheveled. "Saeihr?"

The girl smiled sheepishly, though she averted her eyes from him, as he was not properly dressed. Bochra drew more sheets over himself, ears blushing with that telltale green hue.

"He wanted me to bring you some medicine." The girl tentatively approached the bed and handed him a bottle quickly, then drew back several feet. "He never said you were not out of bed. I suppose he did not know."

"I doubt that he would have cared," Bochra grumbled. He looked at the medicine bottle and set it on the bedside table; he had no physical ailments other than the imaginary one he used to mask his wounded feelings. "Was there something you wanted to see me about?"

"Well, yes." Saeihr looked up at him finally, and when she did, her eyes wandered the silhouette of his body through the sheets with a womanly fascination. "I thought perhaps you might want to go . . . shopping."

Saeihr's eyes squinted upon reaching his face, and she walked closer to the bed. Bochra shifted, but could go nowhere, as it would be improper to appear in his thin sleeping robe before a young lady. Saeihr came right up to the edge of the bed, concern triumphing over her shyness, and looked at his cheek. "Did someone strike you, Bochra?"

Bochra drew a breath, lying on the exhale, "No."

"But-"

Her delicate little hand reached out and touched his face, turning it slightly to the side. Her hands were so fragile that their feathery touch had started to annoy him.

"You were out fighting last night?"

"Of course not," Bochra said defensively. "No. I had dinner here with my father, and-" The name caught in his throat and had to be wrenched out. "-Riov Tomalak."

"Tomalak," Saeihr murmured thoughtfully. She moved back from the bed, pacing a couple steps. "Riov Tomalak . . . "

"You sound as if you have suspicions of him, or dislike him."

"He is the one who witnessed my father's accidental death out there," Saeihr said distantly. "He reported that my father's scout ship erroneously invaded Federation space in the Neutral Zone, and they destroyed him for it."

"Yes, that's right," Bochra said tautly.

"But why?" Saeihr asked. "Why would my father even be in a scout ship? And how could he, Galae'Enriov [Romulan: "Admiral"] Jarok, err in his navigation?" She shook her head, long, loose black hair faintly rustling down her back. "None of it makes sense."

Bochra was silent. As if she had caught scent of his guilt, she looked at him suddenly. He met her gaze evenly, though he felt anxiety creeping over him as those large brown eyes searched his face pensively.

"You were on board Tomalak's ship at the time, weren't you?"

"Yes, but I was indisposed," Bochra lied. "I was still recovering from the Galorndon Core Incident."

"Yes, Taibak said as much . . . "

"Taibak? The Hiifvehi'Saehne [Romulan: "Medical Officer"]?" Bochra asked interestedly. "You know him?"

"He served under my father very briefly years ago, and so my mother knew him enough to question him informally," Saeihr explained. "What he said agreed with Tomalak's report, but I . . . " She sighed. "I wish you had been conscious enough to witness the incident: someone I trust."

Bochra stared at his hands, unable to say anything.

"Anyway, never mind," Saeihr said, shaking off the gloom. "Do you want to go shopping?"

Bochra stared at her, considering. It would be so refreshing to lose himself with her in the noisy city, allow himself to be happy in a natural way. However, he could not ignore his guilt over hiding the truth about her father from her. Tomalak used him, and if he went with Saeihr right now, he would be using her in the same way.

"I'm sorry," Bochra said softly, "but I am not well. Perhaps later on, Saeihr."

"I understand," Saeihr said, though her disappointment was evident. She came over to the bed again, gave his bruised cheek a small frown, and then touched his hand lightly. "Take care of yourself, Bochra. I hope you are better soon."

"Thank you."

"Jolan'tru."

"Jolan'tru."

Bochra had only several minutes to contemplate the girl, before his father came up. This time, he did not bother sitting up, or even looking at his visitor.

"Saeihr left."

"Yes, Saeihr left," Bochra affirmed. "I feel ill. I would rather not go out today."

"You often seem to prefer not going out . . . with her, that is." Gavik leaned over, trying to see his son's face from the mobility chair. "Do you object to her company specifically?"

"Yes, I object to it!" Bochra exclaimed. He rolled onto his side to look over at his father. "I'm too young to think about finding a mate, and Saeihr is even younger. I am not going to begin something that should not be finished for many, many years still."

"There is nothing wrong with laying foundations, Bochra," Gavik said. "Most life bonds _do _take many, many years to form. Why not at least give a friend a chance? That is usually the way things begin between men and women, the way it began between-"

"Between you and mother?" Bochra asked acidly. He glared coldly down at the invalid man, dark eyes large and unable to hide their disgust. "Yes, and _that _was such a strong bond, wasn't it?"

Gavik looked wounded, and turned his face. Bochra watched him, somewhat disturbed by how little remorse he felt over being so harsh. But how could he feel regret, when even Gavik accepted the abuse with such resign? How could he respect this man that did not even seem to respect himself? It was sad, pitiably sad, but also repelling.

"I never did blame her for leaving, you know," Gavik said. "Do you?"

"No." Bochra rolled onto his back, running his hands over his face. His own lethargy was beginning to bother him, and he began to wish he _had _gone out with Saeihr. "No, I would not blame her for it. You asked too much of her."

"Yes, I did," Gavik said quietly. "The moment I chose to live, allowed myself to live, in this state . . . I knew she would not be able to stand the disgrace. I was glad she did leave, actually. She always deserved more. Your circumstance is different, however. You are young and healthy, and I doubt you will repeat my mistakes. No, I **know **you will not." Gavik chuckled, though it was a morose sound. "You have learned more from Tomalak than from me, after all, and he always was a survivor."

Bochra's throat tightened at the mention of the man.

"You and Saeihr have time and youth," Gavik said distantly. "You have those precious things _now_, and that is why I urge you not to waste them. I never wish you to find yourself at the end of time suddenly, and find yourself there . . . alone, and unfulfilled. That is all."

"I understand, di'Ranov," Bochra said softly. "I-"

Gavik looked at him hopefully, and to Bochra's horror, he found himself as unable to apologize to him as Tomalak had been the last night. The silence was painful, and finally Gavik gave his son an understanding smile, and maneuvered the chair out. He glided into the hall, and let the door shut behind himself.

Bochra lay contemplating for the next hours, until finally, during the early evening, he found himself unable to stand the hunger and listlessness. Then, he suddenly bounded out of bed, tearing off his sleep robe and throwing it aside. He dressed hurriedly in dark, plain clothing, and brushed his hair briefly. He pocketed as much spare money as he had at the moment, and headed out of his family's corpse of a house.

Tired both of Saeihr's very youthful effervescence and his father's dreary resign to old age, Bochra found a balanced restaurant that served the comfortably adult masses. He ate, not modestly, and then seated himself at the bar with a bottle of Romulan Ale (that universally infamous beverage) and a shot glass. He settled his large meal by drowning himself in the blue liquid, letting all his worries sink away in the near-narcotic influence of the drink. The bartender gave him a disapproving look, but eventually was merely impressed by the youth's tolerance.

Bochra had never drank so much of the liquor before. He could not decide whether he enjoyed or hated the experience, and pretty soon he didn't care. He contemplated the striking hue of the liquor, thought about how it was about the same shade as the blue in the Romulan Crest, and then began to wonder how the Federation had ever thought to punish themselves by banning such a wonderful substance.

This last thought brought his mind to a subject he had not allowed himself to revisit since landing back on his home world: Geordi LaForge. Now, as the name passed through his stupor, he glowered into his glass. Why did he still remember that damned human's name? He was no significant presence in any sense, just a mild, foolish little man.

A foolish little man that had saved his life.

Bochra thought of the lies he had told in 'his' report on the Galorndon Core Incident. No one had thought anything about it. Who would question the word of a young, upstanding soldier? Who would hesitate to label some human a cruel, deceitful bastard that had taken one of their own hostage in an effort to force information out of him? Geordi LaForge was an evil man, part of an evil crew of an evil race. So everyone believed . . . thanks to Bochra's sworn word.

_I did it for Tomalak, _Bochra thought, as coherently as he could. _I can lie and claim fear of the Tal Shiar, loyalty to the Empire, hatred for Starfleet- but none of that is true. I did it for him. I wanted him to stop worrying for me, to . . . stop being displeased with me. And now . . . now . . . what? What was it all for? He won't even __**look **__at me, on our own home world! What the hell was it for? I owe Tomalak nothing, certainly not my life . . . _

_It wasn't worth it. It would have been better to maintain loyalty to a damn human, rather than that Tomalak. He is treacherous, just as everyone says, treacherous and disloyal. _

Someone sat beside Bochra, and he took no notice. He thought he felt the stranger's eyes on him, but did not bother to check, so lost was he in his drunken haze of misery.

"Why am I not surprised to find you here?" the stranger suddenly said, unmistakably to Bochra. "In the bar, tossing back shots of aylihl [Romulan Ale]."

Bochra lifted his head sleepily from where he had been resting it on his arm, and looked up with bland interest; he could not muster the anger he vaguely was aware he should feel. It took a few moments to recognize the person speaking, but when he did, the anger finally broke through.

"Taibak!" Bochra growled. He sat up straighter, pouring himself another shot. "What are you doing here?"

"As a local patron of this particular restaurant, and one that has never seen you here before, I believe that question would be more appropriately aimed at you." Taibak coolly gestured for a drink. "Don't you agree?"

Bochra leaned his head on a hand sullenly. "Hmph."

"So, do you plan to answer?" Taibak asked conversationally.

"None of your business," Bochra slurred, downing another shot. "That's my answer."

"I see." Taibak considered his own drink for a moment. Then, he went on, casually, "I suppose I might as well surmise that it is due to Tomalak. Perhaps, his refusal to cater to your . . . _desires_ . . . while home?"

Bochra's eyes shifted to the man slowly. _How does he know that?_

"Do not look at me as if I am a Tal Shiar spy," chuckled Taibak. He downed his shot, savored it, and poured another. "I am a doctor, scientist, and the Hiifvehi'Saehne of Tomalak's ship, for the moment. Trust me, I do not have the interest nor the desire to be Tal Shiar."

"Then how do you know so much?"

"Deduction," Taibak said simply. "I have served under Tomalak longer than I care to recall, and I know his way of handling his paramours."

Bochra went to protest, rather incoherently, but Taibak frowned and hushed him. "No, no, no, do not bother denying it," he said, a crack of impatience in his otherwise cold demeanor. "The whole thing practically transpired in my Medical Facility; I would have to be a fool to not have noticed. And believe me, Bochra, I am **not **a fool."

Bochra downed a shot in one go, then fumbled about for the bottle. Taibak snatched it before he could pour it, and he whined a slurred complaint. Taibak ignored him, pouring himself another glass and setting the bottle down on his side of the bar counter.

"Your dirty little secret will be safe with me, however," Taibak went on, ignoring the swears the young soldier was now huffing at him. "I would not make an enemy of a man like Tomalak, and as for you, I would not like to see you drop out of the world for the disgrace of your affairs. I would like to keep you nearby. You . . . interest me."

Bochra stopped reaching for the bottle and slumped back into his seat. "Why?"

Taibak drank, stared at the glass, set it down. "Because I have never met anyone with your particular affliction before."

The word frightened the youth, and he frowned deeply. "Affliction?" he echoed guardedly. "What affliction?"

Taibak seemed slightly uncomfortable. "I would not discuss it here, and neither would you, if you understood the nature of it."

"I thought I had recovered-" Bochra slammed his fist on the counter. "You said I had recovered from the damage done on Galorndon Core!"

"It has nothing to do with that," Taibak said, patience thinning. "You _did _recover completely from that."

"Then what-"

Taibak emptied the bottle into his glass, drank it, and threw some money onto the table. Then, he stepped down from the bar stool and pulled Bochra off of his.

"What are you doing?" Bochra asked, struggling clumsily. "Let go of me! I wasn't leaving!"

"You have had enough," Taibak said simply. "_More _than enough, medically speaking."

"Oh, so now you treat me like a child, as well?" Bochra scoffed.

Outside on the street, Taibak stopped, looked around. They were apparently alone, and so he turned to face the youth. "_Yes_," he hissed, "and you can stop the pretense."

"Wha-"

"We both know you enjoy this."

Bochra stared at him, stunned. "What are you-"

"Because that is the entire _nature _of your affliction," Taibak said, shaking the man lightly. "Forgive me, affliction_s_. Co-dependency, and . . . " He smiled briefly, looking strangely cruel and handsome in the dim light of the street. "There is no word for it in our language. To borrow a Federation Standard term: _masochism_."

"How dare you!" Bochra exploded, tearing his arm from the man's grasp. "Yes, I am with Tomalak, and yes, I may _choose _to depend on him somewhat, but to label me with such filthy, stupid disorders-"

"I mean no insult," Taibak said calmly, walking to his transport vehicle. "And you have no reason to be alarmed. They are not serious or dangerous defects, only-"

"There is nothing wrong with me!" Bochra insisted furiously, following him in a stumble. "NOTHING! You, you're the one! You have no soul, no feelings- You're a _Vulcan_!"

Taibak froze, one hand on the door to his vehicle. His eyes glittered, though his face remained its usual placid mask.

"Yes, one of them," spat Bochra. "You're an orphan, aren't you? And you spend your time in that laboratory apartment, away from your adoptive House, away from everyone! Alone! Because no one would have you, you _Vulcan_!"

Taibak turned to him and grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against the side of the vehicle. "That is-" He smiled that oddly cruel smile. "-enough."

There was something in his whisper that made even the drunken youth realize he had said too much. He eyed the man, both anxious and curious.

"And . . . there it is." Taibak ran a hand over Bochra's hair. "I see that interest in your eyes. You are wondering if you went too far . . . _hoping _that you did."

"That's nonsense."

"Is it?" Taibak held him more tightly, pressed closer to him. "No, I think not. I feel it running through you, the anticipation. You're quite the fvanna'lo [Romulan (male or female) obsessed with sex. A direct reference to loving trousers, because they are always trying to take them off. A low-class, minor insult, but can be spoken by a lover as a soft joke.], aren't you?"

Bochra sulked at the term, and then retorted, "And what are you, to have interest in such a person, then?"

Taibak chuckled, shaking his head. "Only a scientific interest." He released the youth, though he did not move to get into his vehicle, staring him over. "I have always had interest in psychological disorders, but there is a drought of them on Romulus. Because they develop at such a late age, sexual disorders are the only ones that go unchecked, but obviously most guard them fiercely, and no self-respecting citizen would speak of such a thing, of themselves or of a partner- even an ex-partner. Happening upon you was quite a stroke of fortune."

Bochra crossed his arms. "I am _not _disordered."

Taibak reached out and touched the cheek that still held faint traces of a bruise. "No?"

Bochra hit his hand away. "You think I _like _being treated this way?" he asked in horror. "Like I'm still small and weak and insignificant? Is that what you think?"

Taibak watched him, a tinge of sympathy in his eyes.

"I don't!" Bochra shouted. "I hate it! I . . . I hate it. And I know I allow it, but . . . but I hate myself for it. But I . . . "

"You cannot help yourself. Is that right?"

"Only because I love him," Bochra said bitterly.

"And why do you love him?" Taibak pointed out. "Just answer that."

Bochra shut his eyes briefly, exhaling in exhaustion.

"Because he is strong, and that pleases you," Taibak answered for him. "You are happy to submit to one so strong."

Bochra looked away defiantly, though he was unable to argue.

"To be-" Taibak once again took him by the arm. "-taken charge of." He opened the door to his vehicle and jostled the baffled youth inside. "Told what to do. _Made _to obey."

Bochra looked around inside the spacious vehicle. "Not by you," he snarled, reaching for the door. It was locked.

Taibak lazily gave the computer directions, and sat beside him. He was eying Bochra as if he were a new, precious specimen just yet captured. "So you say, but when I touch you-" He placed a hand on the youth's neck. "-your pulse races. Tell me, does every hand to land on you cause such feeling?"

Bochra thought of the way he always cringed away from Saeihr's hatefully delicate touch, and shook his head.

"Only the strong ones," Taibak guessed.

"But your hand is weak," scoffed Bochra, hitting it away again. "If you believe this poor imitation of the Riov is going to get me to sleep with you, you're wrong."

"I do not wish to be anything so trite as lovers," Taibak sniffed. "I only wish to study you."

"I'm not a damned specimen!" Bochra yelled at him. "What the hell do you think? You-"

He broke into a slew of vile curses, as Taibak sighed. The doctor sat back and half-listened to him, looking a bit bored. If Bochra's affliction were not so grossly intriguing, he mused that he probably would have dumped him onto the street without stopping the vehicle (which flew quite high off the ground). It was a shame such a unique mindset had to go along with such a juvenile, ill-tempered young man.

The vehicle stopped and shut itself off once it reached their destination. Taibak exited, dragging the furious youth along with him by the arm. For all his angry talk, Bochra was tellingly content to go along with him, following without violence. He allowed it, just as Taibak had expected him to.

Taibak lived in the apartment that he used as an experimental laboratory, alone as Bochra had said. There was only a small room that pretended to welcome guests in the front, before the domicile wound into larger rooms full of machinery and computers.

Bochra was only vaguely aware of his surroundings, the Ale having taken its toll on his mental capacities. Still, he did note that the home was mercilessly cold and sterile, depressingly clinical. He was almost frightened to be here, at the mercy of the enigmatic doctor.

They came to what appeared to be the master bedroom, but was as overrun with machinery as any lab. Bochra broke away from him, and Taibak ignored him as he went to activate several computers and paraphernalia. Bochra looked around, lost, and suppressed a shudder.

"Why is there all this machinery in here?"

Taibak shrugged. "I told you the things I am interested in."

Bochra stared at him in disbelief. He began to realize that Taibak knew little limits in his research, and that he most likely used his personal life as nothing more than another field in which to run his tests. Bochra told him these things, and added, "And you dare say that _I _am the disordered one."

Taibak stood now, looking at him evenly. "I never claimed to be free of my own indispositions." He approached the youth slowly. "Yet here you are, regardless. I am not a soldier, Bochra, you could have overpowered me, certainly. You could have at least _tried_."

Bochra shifted his gaze as the man put a hand on his neck, and squirmed as he felt his own pulse running against the strange man's fingers.

"But you are angry and restless," Taibak said knowingly. "You are hurt and betrayed, and you want what you always want whenever you cannot have your way: comfort."

"That isn't what you want to give me, though," Bochra told him. He moved past the man, hugging himself uncertainly. "You want to study me, as if I were some-some _freak_."

"I would not use such a strong word," Taibak said slowly, "but you must admit, your tastes are far from the normal."

Bochra shot him a look, but it quickly faded into agreement. He gazed around at the computers and whatnot. "What do you want . . . to do with me?"

"Study your reactions to certain stimulus," Taibak said eagerly. "If I can determine what causes your . . . impulses, perhaps I can help you control them. You would not be so dependent, so submissive."

"You could do that?"

"If I were allowed to determine the cause."

Bochra turned to stare at him, but was unable to read anything from the man's face. "Will it hurt?"

"Mildly."

Bochra found himself nodding before he could think better of it. "All right. All right, I'll . . . let you."

Taibak rushed over, as if afraid the confused young man would change his mind. He placed a metal plate on each of Bochra's temples, and then adjusted a monitoring screen beside his bed.

"And now?" Bochra asked when he was done.

Taibak's lips seemed to tug at the corners as if they were doing their best to grin despite him. "Now, the stimulus."

Bochra braced himself for an electric shock or some other artificial cause of pain, but there was none. Instead, perhaps more shocking, Taibak sat down and pulled him over his knees. Bochra felt his stomach twist and flutter. _Not this, _he pleaded mentally. _Not this again. Anything but this._

"What _is _this?" he balked. "I thought you were going to test my reaction to pain?"

"Obviously, I am," the doctor said simply, unfastening the youth's trousers. "Were you expecting some brand of induced, unnatural pain? But then, there would be no intimacy, no simulation of _desire_. It would defeat the purpose, and I doubt you would have a chance to enjoy it very much."

"Yes, but-but-"

"Do not waste time with feigned indigence, I know you better than that." Taibak lifted his hand over his specimen's uncovered backside. "Unless, of course, that is something you enjoy doing."

Bochra sighed, shaking his head. How did he get himself into such situations? At least, with Tomalak, it was expected, natural. With this one, it was truly bizarre.

"Are you enjoying this?"

Bochra made a contemptuous sound. "You're the one watching my brain patterns. Why don't you tell me?"

"Only mild interest," Taibak said quietly, contemplating for a moment. He resumed spanking the youth, harder, trying to force a stronger reaction out of him.

"What did you expect?" Bochra scoffed. "Your hand is still _weak_."

Taibak considered, but then shook his head. "You are being difficult on purpose," he said knowingly, corners of his mouth tugging very slightly into an almost-smile. "Every time you complain-" His eyes slid to the computer screen on the plain metal bedside table. "-you become flustered, excited."

"I've had enough of this!" snapped the young soldier, trying to pull himself up somehow. "Put me down."

"Not yet."

Taibak was quiet, but he was firm: the man pinned one of Bochra's arm to the small of his back, effectively restraining him from escape. Despite his accusations of weakness, Bochra was beginning to realize that the doctor had been holding back thus far. His grip on Bochra's wrist was like iron, strong enough to rival any soldier.

Naturally, he did not give the man the satisfaction of telling him this, though he wondered if Taibak were capable of even feeling satisfied; he seemed to be rather emotionless, despite their proximity, despite these actions that might have been erotic otherwise. Well, if he was not enjoying it, that made two of them, Bochra figured.

Neither said anything more to one another. Bochra did not even sulk, Taibak merely struck him steadily, eying the monitor more than the younger man. He did not seem particularly pleased with the results, but he did not seem to become truly angry or annoyed, either.

"That will do," he finally said.

He released Bochra, who jerked away from and off of him. Blushing a fiercely deep shade of green, the youth glowered at the scientist, pulling his clothing back together. Taibak stood, a hand at his mouth in thought, and paced.

"Did you really think I would- what? What _did _you think, Taibak?" Bochra asked, still not, despite the sting, sober. He stumbled over to the man, pointing into his chest accusingly. "That I would be smitten by your artificial cruelty?"

Taibak looked at him, expressionless. "I merely expected you to enjoy the pain. Why didn't you?"

"Because it isn't about pain!" snapped Bochra. "I told you that I wasn't a masochist!"

"I see," Taibak said slowly. He paused. "No, I don't believe it. _I _am the problem, so much is evident from your insults: you believe me to be affected, insincere, and lacking. That is why . . . "

Bochra could not find a way to react to this pragmatic reaction, and so he simply stayed pointing at nothing as Taibak walked past him again. Feeling foolish for his brashness in the face of glacial indifference, he shifted on his feet. Turning to the doctor, he stared at him, trying to work his alcohol-addled brain into figuring him out.

"And what about you?" he asked, approaching him. "Did _you _enjoy it?"

Taibak looked at him, but said nothing.

"I thought this was some ploy to seduce me, but . . . You didn't even . . . touch me-not in that way, at least." Bochra crossed his arms, cocking his head in puzzlement. "Why?"

"You sound disappointed."

"Curious."

"I meant it when I said that my interest was singularly scientific," Taibak said. "You have a unique mindset: not enough pride, no desire for dominance- in sexual matters, in any case. I was intrigued. By your mind, do you understand?"

"You aren't jealous of Riov Tomalak? You don't simply want me for yourself?"

"I dislike Tomalak, but I do not particularly want or not want you, Bochra. You're only another man, after all . . . _except _for those afflictions."

"I'm not afflicted!" Bochra shook his head. "Anyway, this time _I_ don't believe it," he said. "You're telling me you were without any sadistic lust of power, without any desire, any gratification?"

"What gratification is there in dominating one who so easily submits?"

Bochra scowled, and suddenly slammed the doctor against the wall. Face-to-face, he realized that Taibak could not possibly be very much older than he was, and was hardly an inch taller if taller at all. "You are telling me that you don't feel- anything?" Bochra hissed, pressing into him so closely it felt as if they both might suffocate. "Nothing at all?"

Taibak's eyes went over Bochra's shoulder, to the computer monitor. The almost-smile returned to his face. "Ah, now there is that lust and emotion," he observed. "I knew you could not possibly fight it off. Not after that."

Bochra glanced back at the unintelligible data briefly. "I know what _I _feel," he said. Remembering the small discs on his face, he peeled them off. "What about you, _doctor_?" He stuck them onto the other man's temples. "What do you feel?"

Taibak could not help himself from glancing at the readings and for the very first time, he looked faintly unsettled. He looked uncertain, and writhed vaguely beneath the youth's arms. "You've made your point, which is that I have normal biological reactions," he said dryly. "Now if you would-"

He went to move Bochra's arms, which were caging him, but Bochra held firm.

"Really, this is hardly-"

"Biological reactions- like this?"

Bochra drew the man into a tumultuous kiss. At first, he felt the cold man draw back, and he had to reach a hand around his head to hold him in place. It felt like- It couldn't have been- Was it fear?

Whatever the feeling, it soon passed, and Taibak eased into the closeness. He still seemed curious, tasting and touching the other in short, experimental motions. The frigid air of the apartment seemed to warm over, and soon Bochra only heard the soft sounds of their breathing rather than the barely-audible hum of machinery.

Bochra wondered if he had, perhaps, created a monster. Taibak now had _him _against the wall, and was purposefully undressing him. He was still methodical, but his inhibitions were gone. He knew every pulse point to put his lips to, and how much pressure between the shoulder blades to make the youth shudder. He knew the secret paths along which to run his tongue, making the other inhale sharply and squirm beneath his touch.

Through the haze of passion and drunkenness, Bochra wondered mildly if Tomalak would be furious with him. But then, certainly Tomalak could never find out? But if he did not find out, how could this qualify as revenge? _Was it _revenge? Was this merely another form of sulking, of being childish, as Tomalak so often accused him of being?

The questions floated feebly through the youth's mind, and were soon drowned out by the pounding of his heart, his pulse, and by sensations running the full spectrum of pleasure and pain. It felt too good, he decided, much too good for anything else to matter. All that mattered was right now.

**5**

Naturally, "right now" led to "morning after". Bochra rolled around in plain, tolerably smooth, if not soft, sheets. He felt a light, a great, painful light burning through his eyelids, and he groaned and covered them with an arm. The day would not be blotted out, and as he realized this, his head began to throb. He kicked and rolled around beneath the single blanket, refusing to open his eyes. He wondered vaguely why he was not wearing his usual sleeping robe or, well, _anything_.

He reached across the bed and got the feeling that someone should be there. Tomalak? No, not him, but then who? And why were they not there?

Bochra lifted his head slightly, blinded briefly by a pang of searing pain. He cried out and clutched his head in both hands, screwing his eyes shut. For a few long moments, all he could do was hold his head and breath shallowly, the pain was so stifling.

"Don't."

The voice was neither gentle nor harsh, simply a practical command issued by one with experience. A hand rested on his shoulder, and eased him onto his beck. Two hands now cradled his head briefly, and slid a pillow beneath his neck.

Bochra grabbed one of the hands before it moved away, gripped it tightly for comfort. "Tomalak."

There was a pause, and then a quiet, "No. Not Tomalak."

"HS Taibak," Bochra breathed, squinting up at him. Still delirious, he looked around, blinded by the daylight and his headache. "Where am I? Don't let me . . . Don't let me die on this, this planet . . . I . . . I'm sorry, the mission . . . failed . . . I . . . "

Taibak looked amused. "Take it easy, Bochra."

"Starfleet, Starfleet . . . saved me . . . They did. Please, believe me, I-"

"I know, I know," Taibak placated him, prying the youth's hand off of his own. "Listen to me, it's over. Galorndon Core, Starfleet, Jarok- that all ended weeks ago. We are on leave on the home world, remember?"

Bochra opened his dark eyes slowly, and finally the doctor began to take shape.

"We are home."

"Oh, yes . . . home . . . " Bochra sighed. He looked around, frowned, and seemed to get a hold of himself finally. "Where, home?"

"My apartment."

"Wait, why am I here?" Bochra tried to get up, made it halfway before collapsing again. "Ugh. What happened?"

Taibak raised his eyebrows. "Do you remember anything?"

"No, I . . . don't . . . " However, it was clear from his tone that he had started to. The events of the past night came flooding back, and he sank further into the pillows, groaning. "Ohhhh. Last night- Last _night_!"

Taibak smiled. "You do remember."

"I must have made a thousand mistakes last night," Bochra grumbled. "Why the hell . . . What . . . Agh. What was I thinking?"

"Nothing, apparently." Taibak looked smug. "I hear that aylihl has that effect."

Bochra glowered at him miserably.

"Do not look at me as if it were _my _fault." Taibak picked up a pitcher from the bedside table and poured a glass of a hot beverage. "Here-" He handed the handle-less gray pottery mug to the youth. "-have this."

"What is it?" Bochra asked, eying it suspiciously.

"Just drink it."

Taibak tipped the mug back to the youth's lips and had him drink. Bochra choked on it, sputtered about its taste, and then was coerced into finishing it. Though it tasted vile, the warmth ran through his body with a tranquilizing effect, soothing it from trembling and quivering internally. He wondered just how much aylihl he had drank to feel so shaken?

Taibak then put a cold, silicone-like square of fabric over the youth's forehead, and moistened his face with a small towel. "You will recover by the afternoon, but for now you must rest," he told him. "You have a high tolerance; most would have passed out retching last night, and instead you-"

Bochra looked at him sheepishly. "Instead, _we_ . . . "

Taibak's brow furrowed slightly. "Yes, we did."

The doctor sat down on the edge of the bed, idly checking Bochra's pulse. "Was that one of your mistakes?"

Bochra watched him curiously. Taibak was ever the Hiifvehi'Saehne, but his manner had changed subtly; he was gentler, more caring. As he brushed aside the blanket halfway and ran a hand over Bochra's stomach, discerning his intestinal movements, he looked almost concerned.

"You could simply scan me with your equipment," Bochra said.

Taibak looked at him. He seemed to take that as a hint that he was being too intimate, and covered the youth with the sheet again. He took out a hand-held medical computer and moved it above Bochra's thin frame. "Hm. As I suspected, you have very high tolerance," he noted. "Your body is not very ravaged at all, even though your blood is practically distilled."

"You are grossly exaggerating, doctor."

Taibak almost-smiled. "Perhaps."

He poured another mug full of the hot beverage and gave it to Bochra.

"It wasn't a mistake," Bochra said quietly, staring into the glass at the black liquid and swirling green streaks of some substance.

Taibak looked at him. "What?"

"I would have drowned myself until I _was _ravaged, or found some trouble to distract myself, if you hadn't dragged me out of that bar," Bochra explained. "I didn't know what I was looking for last night, but . . . I'm glad what I got was you."

Taibak smiled, actually smiled, but he was quick to stifle it. "Well, I must say I am surprised." He became coy, remarking, "I would have expected you to be disappointed with the 'Vulcan'."

Bochra looked apologetic, but he did not apologize. Nonetheless, Taibak patted his head, and said magnanimously, "I forgive you."

Bochra chuckled weakly, though it made his head pound like disruptor rays ricocheting around his skull. He groaned, and put a hand to his temple.

Taibak smiled sympathetically, and placed the cold wet towel on his chest. Then, he stood, brushing his hands off on his black trousers. He then went to his closet and put a dark gray, fish-scale-textured open jacket over his black mock neck. He belted the ensemble, and glanced cursorily at the mirror.

"Are you going?" Bochra inquired.

"I think I should make a courtesy call on your family," Taibak informed him, "and there are some errands I must run. Is there anything you wish me to tell them?"

On Romulus, adults were certainly allowed to be out on their own for nights, days, weeks on end. However, a prolonged and unannounced absence usually led to paranoia that the loved one in question had been apprehended by the Tal Shiar, never to be seen again.

"Yesterday, I was . . . Well, I told them I was feeling ill," Bochra said. "You are a doctor, so it would make some sense that I am here."

"I see. Yes, I'll tell your father that you needed treatment, and I am observing you," Taibak decided. "Fine. As for you, stay where you are. You need rest."

Bochra made no promises, and Taibak lingered.

"I mean it," he said tautly. "Stay there."

"All right, all right," groaned Bochra. He settled down into the bed more. "I feel too horrible to go anywhere, anyway."

Satisfied, Taibak pressed a button that closed the window shutters and dimmed the light. The door shut noiselessly behind him, and Bochra was alone. For a while, he lay peacefully, grateful for the dark, cold atmosphere.

Of course, when he was done relaxing, the youth became quite restless. The beverage Taibak had given him had eased his headache and calmed his nerves, so he was able to climb out of bed with minimal unsteadiness. He retrieved a robe from Taibak's closet and put it over himself, then left the room; fortunately, Taibak was not as strict as Tomalak might have been, and had not locked the door.

"Apartment" meant, on Romulus, any home that was not part of a House complex. They were used for orphans, people who lived far away but had to work in the city and could afford the valuable space, and various 'others' (those on the shadier side of commerce, fallen women and men, kept men and women, disowned invalids who were too weak to suicide, and similar degenerates). This particular apartment was more like the buildings called 'brownstones' on Earth; it was several stories tall, very narrow as it was wedged between similar properties, built in a plain, functional modernist style of a gray, smooth stone material. Inside, it was much the same, and Taibak kept it as plain as its facade. It was, however, a very large property, and must have cost quite a bit.

_It even has sub-level rooms, _Bochra thought as he passed a door (which _was _locked). As the land beneath the Capitol was originally marsh-land, it took extensive construction to clear underground space. Bochra began to wonder just how much money the enigmatic doctor had accumulated over the years.

Intrigued by the many makeshift laboratory rooms, Bochra began poking around the computer systems and machinery. He noted that much of the research had to do with the mind. The machine he had used the last night to test Bochra's "reaction to stimulus" was the least offensive, and it was actually rather sophisticated in its measurement of physiological and mental activity.

Bochra wondered about Taibak. He had been deliberately belligerent in his calling him a Vulcan, but now he was starting to consider the possibility. After all, the man _was _an orphan of unknown origins, and he had a dry, crackling coldness like a desert on a black night. Taken as a whole, these machines all seemed geared toward one goal: to attain the psychic powers the Vulcans were born with. The question was, was Taibak merely jealous, or was there a deeper reason for that desire?

Bochra came across a particular device in a larger room, an ominous-looking chair with metal braces that seemed to be intended to attach to the head at the temples. It was half-built, and the schematics on the computer were somewhat vague: notes obviously intended to be deciphered only by Taibak. Something about the design and scarce information caught in Bochra's mind for some reason, bothered him.

Bochra had actually excelled in science once upon a time, though he had not chosen that specific field, and though something this complex stretched his knowledge to its limits, he was able to comprehend more than most would have. Unless he was misinterpreting the schematics, this was a kind of mind control device intended for, for lack of a better word, brainwashing. However, there was something odd about the way the brainwashing was transmitted to the brain . . .

Bochra was so intent on figuring out this machine that he did not even hear the doors to the room brush open automatically. Taibak stood in the room watching Bochra for a few moments, looking faintly amused, arms crossed. He slid up close behind the youth and murmured in his ear, "Now, why is it that I am not surprised to find you here?"

Bochra twitched, then gave a short, anxious laugh. "I didn't hear you come in." He craned his face around to Taibak's, and their gaze met. Taibak's eyes went to the computer displaying the schematics, then to Bochra's, and his lips seemed to go taut. Hoping to distract him, Bochra kissed him lightly.

Taibak knew his intention, but allowed himself to be distracted. Still, once they had melted apart, the doctor instantly went to the machine and shut off the monitor that held its schematics. "And here I was thinking that your disobedience was just a game played for the sake of foreplay," he murmured, frowning. "But you are naturally quite precocious, aren't you?"

Bochra crossed his arms. "You would not be nervous if you had nothing to hide."

"Don't we _all _have things to hide?"

Bochra could not argue with that, so he turned to look at the chair again. Taibak looked anxious, and touched his arm to urge him out of the room. Bochra followed, reluctantly, but the device kept nagging at the back of his mind.

"I don't understand the use of something like that," he finally said. "Yes, having transmissions fed directly into the brain is an impressive concept, but the agent would have to be surgically-modified with a receiver of some sort to interpret the frequency. That would make any would-be brainwashed spy easily discovered."

Taibak said nothing. They were back in his bedroom, and he guided Bochra back onto the bed. He was partly curious as to whether the youth would figure out his specific intentions for the machine, though another part of him illogically worried about his reaction. Why should he care about this little brat of Tomalak's? Yet, he could not refute the fact that he did.

"Unless, unless . . . " Bochra was murmuring to himself, sitting with his back against the bed's headboard.

Taibak turned his face to his own and looked into his eyes. Bochra was distracted from his own quandaries by the unspoken questions in the man's eyes, and was a little taken aback by the desire he saw there. Without a word, Taibak kissed him, a slow, pressing kiss. He seemed to want to convey his thoughts that way, and for once, Bochra entertained the thought of having Vulcan-level telepathy; it would certainly make situations like this less confusing. Then again, being a Vulcan would make such romantic situations a moot point, anyway.

Taibak drew out of the kiss, but barely by an inch. He ran a hand through Bochra's hair, inhaling deeply, slowly. "So," he said on the exhale, "what happens now?"

"You mean, between us?"

Taibak nodded, and sat on the edge of the bed beside Bochra. "You would bide your time away from Tomalak with me?" he inquired. "What of the girl you've been with, Jarok's daughter Saeihr?"

"That was never anything more than friendship, a friendship formed out of guilt," Bochra admitted. He shook his head. "I do not desire Saeihr. Perhaps someday I will, as a wife, but not today, and not any day in the next thirty years at least!"

"And you cannot bear to live without sex?" Taibak mused, running a finger down Bochra's cheek. "Such indecency."

Bochra's face colored (cutely, Taibak thought), and he looked around the room as if expecting an answer to appear on the walls. Finally, he sighed, and shook his head. "I like the company," he confessed bitterly. His face softened from its stubborn set, and he stared at his hands. "Not that I was pure before, but after . . . Galorndon Core, I suppose I let myself become, if not 'dependent' as you said, then at least accustomed to having physical companionship. If that makes me some kind of perverse fetishist, then so be it! There are worse kinds of that, anyway."

"To be certain," Taibak said softly, caressing the youth's arm. He always retained that expression of bemusement and interest that made him seem to be studying a subject. "Well, I am not one to judge." He stood, kissing the boy's lips briefly. "You may not believe this, but I never did intend to sleep with you. You may be whatever it is you are, and you were intoxicated- Knowing these things, I still put you in a position where I knew you would . . . "

Bochra frowned, a little confused to hear Taibak rambling.

"I was responsible, entirely," Taibak said, looking down at him with unreadable emotions swirling in his dark, cold eyes. "I lost control of the situation. I allowed it to become perhaps more than it should have."

"Why?"

Taibak looked startled. "What?"

"Why did you?" Bochra asked. He took Taibak's arm and tugged him into sitting beside him again. "Anyway, why the whole ploy? You didn't just want to study me."

Taibak considered, then admitted, "No. There was more to it than that."

"Then what?" Bochra laughed a little anxiously. "Did you just want to punish me, so badly? Am I that annoying?"

Taibak smirked a little. "Somewhat." His face sobered. "But no, my reasons are far more complex."

"It isn't about me, is it?" Bochra asked softly. "It's about Tomalak."

Taibak avoided his gaze, saying nothing. Bochra tugged on the sleeve of his soft, lightly-textured silver-gray jacket.

"That is it, isn't it?" Bochra asked searchingly. "You've always hated Tomalak. You wanted to-to get at something of his. Didn't you?"

"That is not it at all," Taibak said. "Yes, I dislike Tomalak, for very good and very old reasons, but I was not trying to steal you away from him, or hurt you to hurt him. Give me more credit than that."

"Then what _were _your intentions?"

"I wanted to- to-" Taibak seemed to have difficulty, and he paused for a long moment. "I thought it would be best if you came to realize exactly how self-destructive you have been in your relationship with him. I thought that if I forced you to face your behavioral patterns and humiliated you with the truth of what you are when you are with him, that you might reconsider being with such a man."

"You were trying to help me?"

"Yes," Taibak said shortly, stiffly. "I have known Tomalak longer than you have. He is a dangerous and cruel man. I have seen others come and go, but-" He paused pensively. "It was Galorndon Core. Seeing you broken, watching you struggle through the physical therapy every day, only to be further abused by Tomalak . . . I suppose I became attached to you, sympathetic, in a way I have never-" He broke off abruptly, cleared his throat, and said nothing more.

"I never would have known," Bochra murmured. "On the ship, you never said a word."

"It is not my usual manner to speak of such things." Taibak's brow furrowed. "I still have difficulty with certain- certain aspects of relationships."

"But why the hatred of Tomalak?" Bochra asked. "You're usually indifferent when it comes to people, unless it becomes personal, as you said it did with me. What, then, is the personal matter between you and the Riov?"

Taibak looked haunted, but he merely kissed the youth and held him at his chest. Bochra was content for a few moments, but then craned his neck to look at the man again.

"Were you-"

"No!" Taibak snapped sharply. "I know what you are thinking, and believe me, it is _not _that. To put it explicitly so there is no misunderstanding: Tomalak and I have never been romantically involved."

"But then why-"

The soft tone of an incoming communication sounded through the room. Taibak moved Bochra aside, seemingly grateful for the interruption, and left the room. Bochra lay down in the bed, staring at the window, and thought.

His feelings for Taibak were too muddled to begin deciphering, and he knew there was no way to find anything out about Taibak's history without asking him directly. No one knew much about the doctor, after all. Bochra was still uncertain as to whether he was possibly part Vulcan or not.

Bochra fell back to pondering the mind control machine. There was something familiar about the way it worked. Why? He had never had experience with those kinds of transmissions before-

It hit the youth all at once, and his eyes went round. Angry, he tore out of the bed, and stormed the halls looking for the doctor. He heard voices in the social room, and barged in.

"The spy would have to be modified," he said, "or _already modified_! You plan to utilize that man's VISOR to-"

He broke off instantly, shocked by the sight. Taibak had turned from his communication screen, but had not ended the call. Tomalak's face, equally stunned as the other two, stared back at them. His eyes looked over the robe Bochra wore, then went to Taibak, and back to Bochra's face.

To Bochra's surprise, smugness crept over Taibak's face, and for the first time, he looked as devious as the Riov they both served. Had this been planned? Nothing more than some kind of revenge against Tomalak for who-knew-what? Bochra frowned at him in hurt confusion, but Taibak did nothing to ease his suspicions.

"Excuse me, Riov," Taibak said, his voice low and smooth. "As you may very well know, my current _guest_ can be somewhat lacking in manners."

Bochra looked at Tomalak, wondering if he would object, and half-hoping he would. Tomalak, for once, looked at a loss for words. His mouth moved a few times, though he could form no coherent sound. Then, his characteristic scowl returned, and his eyes became cold.

"Yes, I am quite aware of that," he said. "Would you mind excusing us, khre'Arrain Bochra?"

A little disappointed that Tomalak did nothing possessive, Bochra stormed out. He returned to the master bedroom, searching for his clothing, until Taibak joined him.

"Never intended to seduce me- Ha!" Bochra growled as he continued his search, refusing to look at the man's hatefully cool face. "You planned this entire thing, the way you planned to use the information I gave you about the VISOR! You backstabbing, manipulative, evil- Mm!"

Taibak had turned him around to face himself in one swift motion, and now pressed into a forceful kiss. For a moment, Bochra lost himself in it, before remembering how furious he was. "Mmmm—no! No. That isn't going to work." He punched the man's shoulder. "You used me!"

Taibak actually laughed. "Bochra- Ow. Bochra, Bochra, calm yourself."

"And now you dare to laugh at me!"

"Calm-" Taibak caught one of Bochra's fists before it hit his jaw, and sobered. "**Calm down**. Now, tell me, how could I have known that Tomalak would call to discuss our deployment today? And how could I have known you would barge in on a private communication when he did? Angry, might I add, over a machine I never even intended you to see in the first place."

"You knew- somehow you knew!" Bochra insisted. "You-" He scowled as Taibak began to smirk in humor again. "Don't laugh at me! You manipulated the entire thing!"

"Did I? And how did I manage that?"

"Somehow, you- you Vulcan!"

"Back to that, are you?" Taibak asked, sounding bored. "By the way, your clothing are in that cleaning machine in the wall- Yes, that drawer."

Bochra removed the robe, unceremoniously tossing it to the floor, and began to dress. Taibak paced around him, at a slight distance, a hand on his chin in thought.

"I have not once lied to you, Bochra, even if I have avoided some truths," he said. "Even if I were a full-blooded Vulcan, I doubt I could predict _your_ actions due to their sheer lack of logic and, apparently, reason. I did not manipulate anything, least of all you. Now, am I pleased with the way things turned out? Yes, I freely admit that I am, and you may hate me for that all you like."

Bochra chewed it over, slipping on his black outfit from the previous day. It was clean, having been freshly laundered in the morning.

"For all I know, you could be manipulating _me_ into making Tomalak jealous," Taibak pointed out. "I saw the look in your eyes, you know." He came up beside Bochra, stared at him. "You were glad he knew. You want him to be jealous, and why not? He has never cared about your pain, your jealousy, has he?"

Bochra let his face be stroked by the doctor's cold hand, no longer as combative. "Either way," he said, "we both get what we want, and it's all about Tomalak, is that what you're saying?"

"It doesn't have to be _all _about Tomalak."

Taibak kissed him, and this time Bochra allowed it to its completion. Then-

"And the mind control device?"

Taibak's lips tightened.

"What about that?"

"_That_ was about Tomalak, remember?" Taibak asked impatiently, moving away from him. He picked up his robe from the floor, went to hang it up in the closet. "You willingly gave me all the information concerning the VISOR in exchange for my telling you why Tomalak was being so harsh with you."

"Yes, I know we had a deal, but I never thought you would use that information for something like this!" Bochra said, temper flaring again.

"Then what _did _you think it would be used for?" Taibak snapped. "Don't pretend to be so naïve, it doesn't suit you, Bochra."

Bochra frowned, stung by the biting tone.

"What did you honestly think?" Taibak repeated. "You knew it would be used against the Federation, if it could be. You simply did not care. Do not forget that. Your priorities were to win back the affection of your precious Tomalak, and you sold out that man. And again, why not? Who would put a human over the approval of their own?"

"I'm leaving."

Taibak looked at him, and there was a faint flicker of regret in his eyes. However, he remained cold, and said merely, "Then, go."

With nothing more to be said, Bochra left. As he passed, Taibak caught the faint smell of aylihl and sweat that still clung to him, and he shut his eyes. He bowed his head, lips a thin, white line on his face.

_Leave it alone_, he told himself. _Leave it alone. Let it go. It already went farther than it ever should have. Just let it rest. Let it rest . . . _

**6**

Even after Taibak was gone from his communication screen, Tomalak remained staring at it. Having gotten to his feet, he now slowly sank into the chair before the screen, and swiveled it so that it faced the window instead. He stared and stared, trying to tell himself that it had not pierced his heart so deeply to see Bochra at the doctor's home, in another man's robe. He tried to tell himself it was better the youth had found some distraction, so he would leave him alone and not risk their being found out. It was better to be this careful, to leave nothing to chance, when you had so much to lose . . .

And if he lost Bochra?

So, what of it? He was only a foolish child, a diversion for the long months out in space. He could find the same spark of admiration in the eyes of many young soldiers, male or female, of any other House or rank. Surely, he was just a boy like any other, only ordinarily handsome, only reasonably bright, only . . . only . . .

Tomalak's fist tightened beside the temple he had it leaned on. Not this time. Not this one. It was different this time, _he _was different. Or perhaps it was Tomalak himself that was different . . . It mattered nothing now. There was no way to talk himself out of this outrage and pain.

S'vrian came in to use the communicator, and stopped when she saw him. She looked startled, though she hid it within a moment. "Is something the matter?" she asked casually, coming around in front of him.

She wore a jade dress today that showed nearly all of her ample bust, but Tomalak did not even notice her. "Nothing serious," he said, standing.

She looked frozen with confusion, unused to being left out of his emotions. "Are you certain of that," she asked, unable to keep a note of desperation from slipping into her voice, "deyhhan?"

Tomalak stopped and looked down at her. He looked tired, long face without any trace of its usual confidence or surliness. He put a hand on her shoulder, and said, "It is not important."

S'vrian realized the subject matter from that, and her eyes darkened. "That child causes you much difficulty, doesn't he?"

"Only if I allow him to." Tomalak kissed his wife appreciatively. "And I will not do that, S'vrian. Only one person will ever have that power over me."

He left. S'vrian looked sad, and she stared after him for some time after.

"If only you had a choice in the matter, deyhhan."

* * *

Bochra did not go home. There was nothing home but a lifeless shell of a building and its faded, old handful of inhabitants that were like living ghosts. Instead, he walked around the festival-preparing crowds in the marketplaces. Eventually, he happened upon Saeihr and her crowd of friends, and joined them. Saeihr was already in good spirits, but she glowed when Bochra came along. Well, fine, it was good to be appreciated for once, Bochra thought ruefully.

They were all under-dressed for the strong chill blowing in from the sea, but they were young enough to find it merely refreshing. It was a modern crowd that used the less formal dress, so they were quite attractive in their closer cut of pants, the girls' blouses were silky and showed their figures, and their hair was kept mostly long and fluttered in the cool wind. Bochra felt a bit uptight in his black ensemble, and a little tall given his some years of age over them, but he had not even wanted to go home for the sake of changing, and the other young adults did not seem to notice or care.

It was a bit ironic that they ended up in the same restaurant Bochra had been drunk in just the night previous, and his ears blushed green when the bartender gave him a disapproving glance, as if thinking he might corrupt this carefree group of youngsters with him. Even if he had wanted to, he did not think he would have dared order anything but the syrupy, carbonated green beverage that he did. It was shockingly sweet, but after a few sips, he decided he was not yet too old to appreciate it. He even mixed some in with the spoonfuls of iced dessert Saeihr insisted on sharing with him.

The reason the youngsters did not mind his presence soon became clear: they were impressed by him. His rank of khre'Arrain and the reason for that promotion, namely Galorndon Core, were evidently widely-known by now, and his status as low-level hero had trickled down to this generation by now. He tried to appreciate their admiration, but he really did not like to think about that incident very much, and wished he could escape all the chaos it had brought into his life for more than a few fleeting moments.

Nonetheless, he told a few stories about the Federation that he made up on the spot. Before long, a few soldiers his own age had joined them. Now that he had a sizable crowd, Bochra's mood began to improve, and he took delight in defaming Starfleet to his listeners.

"It's a pity your human did not get aboard Riov Tomalak's ship," lamented Lai, a sharply handsome old friend-rival of Bochra's that also served on Tomalak's ship. He had an obsession with the outdated manner of smoking herbal relaxants, and currently blew smoke from the long, ebony-handled, gold-bowled pipe he had lit. There was a lazy quality to his broad, but thin-lipped smile, and the way his hair was always just an inch or two longer than most neat cuts. He wore slacks and boots, simple shirts, but the sleeves of his thigh-length over-shirts were always very long and very wide, and intricately detailed. The moment the good-looking, obviously affluent man spoke, he had at least every female's attention (a quality Bochra had once been mildly jealous of). "The fun we might have had! Was there no way of taking him captive? Surely, if _you _were taken captive by _them_, then-"

"I was not taken captive," Bochra said, his voice just beneath the point of being tellingly snappish. "I demanded to be taken aboard, to face their Captain before I killed myself. Fortunately, Riov Tomalak had already threatened them, and they were too scared to do anything but let me walk away to their transporter room." He added, to distract them from the point of whether this qualified as capture or not, "Oh, you should have seen the look on that Klingon's face when I was transported right out from beneath his ugly nose!"

They all laughed heartily, even Lai distracted enough to merely take another drag from his emnaae'aumh (literally: smoke stick, the old-fashioned style of pipe specifically). From behind his sleeve, a younger, rounder-faced boy leaned forward onto the table in front of Bochra. He was not so thin as the others, and a trifle shorter. Bochra noticed him for nothing more than the fact that he was not smiling. The boy's large but heavy-lidded eyes flicked to Bochra's, then away quickly.

Lai gestured at the boy, and the boy handed him a little drawstring bag of smoking mix, which Lai added to the pipe in his typical, lazy manner.

As if he had just thought about it, the boy suddenly blurted out in surprised horror, "There was a _Klingon_ serving on the Federation ship?"

Bochra met his eyes, evenly replying, "Yes, there was. I know, disgusting, isn't it?" He glanced back around the little group of youths, and sipped from his beverage, his fifth sweet concoction. Ironically, he was becoming almost as drunk on the sugar as he would have been from the alcohol.

"My brother, erie'Riov ["Sub-Commander"] Thei, told me that about a year or so ago," Lai said thoughtfully, exhaling a mellow-smelling blue smoke. "I never believed him! A klivam [Romulan: "Klingon" – derogatory term] dog on the bridge of a ship! Unthinkable!"

"First associating with the yyaio [Romulan: "Vulcan" – derogatory term, literally "dead one/s"], and now those Klingons," the sleepy-eyed boy muttered. "How low, even for humans! Associating so freely . . . mixing blood . . . "

"The Galaxy is going to hell, thanks to Starfleet," Lai agreed. He flicked some ashes onto the table, then looked at the boy. "Oh, Ta'hrl, how _is_ my brother doing, anyway? I haven't spoken to him. You just got in? I hadn't seen you until this morning."

Ta'hrl looked at him blankly, and then nodded. "Oh, ie. We docked yesterday."

"My brother's ship has had nothing exciting happen since that year!" Lai said. "You should come back to Riov Tomalak's. The old dog is cranky as ever, but we have our fun. Why did you even leave last year? Were you reassigned?"

The two got into a private, rather heated (on Lai's part) discussion, and the rest of the group moved on to talking about other things. Bochra, however, kept an eye on Ta'hrl. He recognized him now as being one of the Serona [Mandatory five-year military service all Romulans enter upon reaching early adulthood] scrubs that had worked on Tomalak's ships for some years, and a tag-along of Lai's. He had never spoken much, always involved with some hobby that Bochra could not remember for the life of him.

As Bochra contentedly let everyone else talk for a change, he suddenly felt a hand atop his own. He turned to find Saeihr smiling at him. She had been so quiet during all the stories that Bochra had almost forgotten she was there.

"This is nice," she said to him exclusively.

Bochra took a long drink from his glass, considering. "Yes, it is nice," he finally agreed, happy that he could say so honestly. "It is."

"I was worried about you, you know," Saeihr said, moving her chair closer to his for more privacy. "I thought you might have outgrown this after your promotion!"

Bochra chuckled at her gentle teasing. "So did I," he admitted. He looked around the tables (by now, three had been adjoined together to encompass the group), and found himself smiling. "But I haven't changed, Saeihr," he said decidedly. "At least, not too much, right?"

"Only for the better," Saeihr smiled.

Bochra stared into his glass, wondering. A part of him was still disconnected, concerned with other things that he knew he should not be. The secrets swirled around his mind, but he set them aside; he had just started to realize that he could set them aside, that he could be his old self, and that there was nothing wrong with it. All these other teens and young adults around the table, he was sure each and every one of them was withholding some secret that would be viewed as perverse or wrong or shameful. You had to keep some things close, but that did not mean you had to keep yourself closed off.

Otherwise, one might end up like Taibak.

Though Saeihr held his hand under the table and he let her rest her head on his shoulder, Bochra felt his thoughts turning more strongly back to his secret affairs. His anger had faded amidst the laughter of his peers and friends, and by now he was starting to pity the man.

_He wanted to stop me, to keep me with him even if it was only to argue more, _Bochra thought, _but he couldn't express that. He said that he had difficulty with some things- emotional things, did he mean? Is he really part Vulcan? If he is, then . . . is it even his fault?_

It was evening by now, and an older crowd began to filter into the restaurant. The misplaced youths moved out onto the street, and began to dissipate into smaller groups and couplings. Lai, surrounded by a cloud of purple smoke now, was half-dragging the smaller Ta'hrl along with him, saying something about their families having dinner to welcome his brother Thei back to the city after so many months in space. Bochra thought he caught Ta'hrl giving him that unreadable, hesitant glance again as he was pulled away by the sleeve, but it was too quick to be certain. That kid- something about him bothered Bochra deeply.

He had no time to think about it, however, as Saeihr slipped her hand into his. He offered to walk her home and she accepted. The two walked in silence for a while, heads a bit light from all the sugar, happily dazed from all the commotion. Stars were dotting the clear, twilight blue sky, as the sun threw an array of manic colors up along the lower strip of horizon. Bochra felt a pang of longing to be out there in the stars, back on Tomalak's ship, away from all the complications of civilian life.

"It's when you're quiet."

Bochra looked at her suddenly. "Huh?"

Saeihr smiled, but it was a little sad. "When you slip away from me," she explained. "It happens when you're quiet. Your mind goes away." She looked up at him, cute face pensive. "Where does it go, Bochra?"

Bochra motioned at the sky.

"Ah," Saeihr said understandingly. "Well, you will make a fine Riov someday, if you love it out there so much. My father always said the very best were the ones married to their ships . . . "

"It is not yet _my _ship, however," Bochra said. "It's Tomalak's." He kicked at some loose stones in the road, scattering pebbles. "There is no ship waiting for me, one so lowly."

"A wife may someday . . . wish you to command her House's ship."

Bochra looked at her in surprise, and she blushed and stared at her feet.

"Well, don't give me that look!" she laughed nervously. "I-I am going to command my own House's ship, remember?"

"Your House has many ships."

Saeihr grinned at him, poking his shoulder. "And you would marry me for my House's ships?"

"N-no! Don't give me that look!"

They both laughed until the conversation's overtones sank in. Bochra thought about her seriously for the first time, unguarded and his mind free of the influences of those others. He had seen females in command of ships before, but never any like her. She was warm, earnest, and giving. Honestly, if she would never trade those qualities for the shrewdness that came with command, he _would _marry her. Protecting this joy that Jarok had given his life in a fruitless attempt to save . . . it would be the best reason to marry he could ever find.

Now he began to understand what a life bond was. It had nothing to do with sex, nothing at all. It was a sacred connection that transcended that, the melding of two _souls_. It was love, pure and uncomplicated. No matter what came later, it had to be this feeling that came first: simple, clean, honest.

"I don't care about ships, Saeihr," Bochra said now, looking down at her. "A man's duty is to protect the House he chooses, for the sake of the one he loves. When I am older, I will find that which is so precious I am compelled to protect it, and I will swear my loyalty to the one who possesses whatever that may be."

They stopped in front of her grand House. He stood before her, and tipped her face up to his own gently.

"Just as your father swore to protect your light once."

Shocked by the seriousness, Saeihr could only stare at him. "B-Bochra . . . "

"And someday, a man will see that light as precious, too, and take his place."

Saeihr's eyes watered, and he saw that the pain of losing her father was still strong.

"You don't have to be him, Saeihr," Bochra said gently. "You don't have to be that strong. He only wanted you to be happy. Only that."

Saeihr finally allowed herself to crumble, and he embraced her. She was so small, so delicate, that she felt like little more than a wisp in his arms. It was then that he realized he did love her, that he always had. Still, he worried, wondering if he really could promise her that someday when the future was so clouded with other things . . .

Saeihr had not cried in tears, and she pulled back now. Her father's pride shone through her, this time genuine and not a forced act. She smiled at him bravely. "Someday I will be happy again," she said firmly. "Whether I am protected or not."

Bochra leaned down and kissed her cheek. He felt a little guilty for being so chaste with her when he was so passionate with what sometimes seemed like _everyone _else. She was young, however, and did not seem desiring of anything more, anyway. Simple, clean . . . it was enough.

On his walk home, alone, Bochra began to feel the chill of the oncoming night seeping into his bones. He shoved his hands in his pockets, shuddering slightly, as the wind rustled his hair more violently. Was a storm setting in? The stars were hiding amongst clouds now, and the sun was completely gone.

Someday, someday . . . Who could promise someday? Yet, he just had. He wondered if Jarok had made similar promises before leaving to his death. All for the sake of her smile . . .

By the time he arrived home, at his family's ghost of a house, Bochra felt a dark and ominous mood settling over the city and himself. He was neither angry nor sad, just confused and swept up in ill tidings he could not explain. It was almost a relief to get inside.

The first person he saw made him stop in his tracks. Behind the man, his father, in his mobility chair, said cheerfully, "Bochra, at last you've come home! Look who has joined us for the meal!"

Taibak smiled his cool, thin smile at the youth. "If I would not be imposing, of course."

The chill seemed to have followed him inside, and Bochra sighed, rubbing his arms. "No. Not at all, HS Taibak." He met the man's gaze evenly. "By all means."

**7**

Taibak excused his presence as an informal house call, saying he was concerned over Bochra's (imaginary) bout of illness. Bochra assured everyone that he had recovered with such finality that it would not be questioned again. Gavik, always happy for company, turned the conversation to Taibak's scientific research, surprising everyone by being quite aware of the current projects the government was funding. Taibak was pleased, and the two dominated the dinner conversation, which was more than fine with Bochra.

_How many lives do I lead? _Bochra wondered a little bitterly after escaping the table some time later. He wandered out to the corridor adjoining the back of the main house with the small servants' quarters, which overlooked the feeble, unattended garden. He stretched his arms in the cold night air, gazing up at the cloudy sky. It smelled like rain. _I am one person with my father, another with Saeihr, and still another with Taibak and Tomalak. Who was I on Galorndon Core, befriending that human? Who was I this afternoon, insulting all of Starfleet with those lies and wild tales in front of my friends? Who will I be tomorrow morning? I never realized just how many facets a single person can have. If only we could all live honestly-_

_Ha! How stupid. Live honestly, and let the Tal Shiar pick us __**all **__off one by one for this or that mistake! Wouldn't they love that? How many things have I done that would qualify as dissent? Disregarding the Tal Shiar, how many things have I done that would be politically and socially unacceptable? These separate lives are necessary when you live so closely on the edge between honor and shame, when the standards were established long before you and will stand long after you are gone. But it keeps us from becoming like the blandly tolerant Federation, so let it be so, I guess . . . _

Taibak came out of the main house, and stood beside Bochra at the railing separating the walkway from the garden below. They looked at one another, then out into the night again. A long silence was underscored by the faint rustling of the wind through the trees and shrubbery.

"Tomalak forced you to lie about everything that happened on Galorndon Core," Taibak finally said. "He held no regard for your loyalty to the man that saved your life, Mr. LaForge with the VISOR, and beat you into defaming him and the entire Federation. Then he attempted to lure the _Enterprise_ to their doom, and you saw what he did to Jarok in the process. Yet you defended his actions, fell in love with him, and remain so."

Bochra exhaled, too tired to fight. Taibak looked at him, and there was hurt in his eyes.

"And you condemn me for doing this one thing," Taibak said. "Who knows if I can even get the damned device to work properly? Who knows if I will even find someone to sponsor my plan? Who knows if I will ever have the opportunity to use it? It is merely an idea I am experimenting with out of curiosity, for the good of the Empire, and you dare-"

"I'm sorry."

Taibak raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

Bochra faced him. "I am sorry," he repeated. "I wish no harm on that human, but it would be foolish to wish him well. As you said, why put a human over one of my own? In any case, it is none of my business what you do with the enemy. I had no right to be angry, and I apologize for it. Also, for what I said, for calling you the things I did."

Taibak watched him, arms crossed, considering. "I am glad you are capable of being sensible, and I accept your apology," he said. Then, after a moment, "However, you were justified in some of your words."

Bochra frowned. "I was?"

"Yes. You see-" Taibak drew closer, their faces nearly touching, and murmured the rest, "-I am a Vulcan."

Bochra stared at him in awed disbelief. Taibak smiled, and then went down the steps of the walkway to the gardens. Bochra followed him. They walked until they were outside the light seeping out of the main building, near the empty servant's quarters, and settled beneath a large tree with overhanging branches that was spilling tiny, diamond-shaped golden leaves. It shielded them adequately from the droplets of rain that were beginning to trickle down from the heavens, and they sat on the soft grass.

"My mother was Vulcan," Taibak began, "and lived on a Federation colony that bordered on the Romulan side of the Neutral Zone. She was a doctor that lived quite far out from the rest of the populace, working tirelessly on studying the unique biology found on the planet. One day, she found an injured man in the forests surrounding her property, and brought him to her home to treat. He was grievously injured, and she decided he must be one of the Vulcans from the trade ship that had crashed nearby some days previous, though it had been said there were no survivors. She did not mention it to anyone, as she was uncertain whether he would even live, and poured all her energy into treating his injuries. She noticed his physiology seemed different somehow, but she ignored the fact.

"When he came to, he claimed amnesia. He _was _different, she could tell now, but for some illogical reason, she remained silent, kept her suspicions to herself. They became friends, she was intrigued by his passionate personality, and he found her beautiful. One thing, I suppose, led to another.

"Remember, these were times of war between the Federation and our Empire. When he could no longer bear to lie to her, he told her everything. The ship that had crashed had not been the Vulcan trade vessel, that had been destroyed by the crashed ship- a cloaked Romulan cruiser. The people of the colony had never been aware of the Romulan vessel, and assumed the crashed ship was the Vulcan vessel. He had survived alone, after having destroyed the cruiser beyond recognition, and thought he would simply die alone in the forest. But she had saved his life, and now he owed her his, and told her to do with him whatever she wished."

Taibak paused, smiling sadly. "It was then that she cemented her illogical emotions by choosing to forgive him. She forgave him for piloting the ship that destroyed her own people on the trade vessel, and she forgave him for his deception. She actually said the words, that she loved him."

"Loved?" Bochra echoed incredulously. "A Vulcan that loved . . . "

"Yes, my mother was quite a strong woman," Taibak said. "You see, she was intelligent enough to _choose _to feel. The Vulcans are not incapable of emotion, they simply choose not to feel. She recognized that love was not logical, should not be so, and allowed herself this man. They lived for years on the colony, and I was born."

"Then you are half Romulan, and half Vulcan."

"Yes," Taibak said, a bit impatient at having been interrupted. "Anyway-"

"But how did you end up here?" Bochra asked. "If his ship was destroyed, and they were on a Federation colony-"

Taibak smiled acridly. "I was about to explain precisely that, actually."

Bochra shut his mouth.

"I was nearly twelve or thirteen, I have never been able to recall precisely, when the war came to the colony," Taibak said, his words becoming detached, distracted. "Even out at my mother's home, we could hear the screams of the humans and Vulcans in the colony's main district of residence. My father was known as a Vulcan to the people by now, and he left to help defend them. Yes, he fought for Federation citizens until he could fight no more, and came back to the house wounded. My mother was-was still predominantly logical. A logical woman. She-" He paused for a long moment, face strained with a dark, heavy sadness. "She knew. She knew it was hopeless. So, she locked me inside of a medical storage unit, one used for preserving corpses and specimens in stasis. It was dark and smelled of chemicals. I could still hear, everything, I- I heard the soldiers come. I heard my father fight. I heard the things they called my mother. I heard her die. She didn't scream, it was just a sound, a small sound like a sigh and a gasp. Then there was nothing, silence."

Bochra swallowed uncomfortably. He remembered this feeling from Galorndon Core, the unpleasant sensation of the weight of your people's sins, their atrocities. It was difficult, sometimes, to shrug it away. Just as you could feel a whole Empire's pride and greatness, you could also be struck by its ugliness and cruelty.

"Later, more soldiers came through the house," Taibak said. "One man was alone, and he found me. I thought he would kill me, but I could say nothing. I barely remember this, but later he told me that I only stared, saying and expressing nothing. A Vulcan child, he thought, but . . . nonetheless, he did not kill me. Nor could he abandon me, he later said. He smuggled me aboard his ship, hid me until we landed on Romulus, and then took me home. He waited some time, and then announced that he had adopted a Romulan orphan, and that was that.

"My father could have simply claimed me as a spoil of war and brought me home publicly, treated me as a foreign prize, but he did not. He made me a part of this world in every way possible, even before I told him I was actually half Romulan. Even though I have always had trouble unlearning my mother's Vulcan teachings, he has always been patient and generous, defending me from suspicion or prejudice as much as he can. I never doubted, will never doubt, that he loves me."

Bochra was shaking his head. "I am so sorry, Taibak," he said softly. "I didn't know. I never would have guessed. But that isn't an excuse. I'm, I'm so . . . so-"

"Sorry?" Taibak suggested, smirking a little. "I am quite calloused to prejudice. It is partly my own fault for allowing myself to be so indoctrinated by my mother's teachings after all these years."

Bochra kissed him, moved closer to be in his arms. "That doesn't make me any less horrible," he said. "I did it to that human, LaForge, and now I've done it to you. My big mouth."

"You're simply normal, by Romulan standards," Taibak said. "It is to be expected that you react and judge based on the mainstream opinion."

"No, no, but I am _not _normal," Bochra said. "I'm a hypocrite. LaForge was crippled and I told him so, meanwhile my own father has gone through most of his adult life as an invalid himself! I scoffed at his desire to help me, trust me, yet I took advantage of it to survive. Then I come judging you for your personality, after having been proven some sort of homosexual masochist!"

"Well," Taibak chuckled, "I suppose the term 'hypocrite' is fitting after all." He leaned his back against the tree trunk, drawing the youth closer in his arms. "Still, you are young, and who is not a belligerent hypocrite in youth?"

Bochra just shook his head, disgusted with himself.

"What surprises me is that you have not yet made the obvious connection." Taibak touched his face, kissed his lips softly. "You've slept with a Vulcan."

"Oh." Bochra thought about it. "I suppose I have."

Taibak looked surprised as Bochra sat up in his arms and took his face in both hands. Bochra smiled, and kissed him tenderly. Taibak's eyes softened, then closed, and he embraced the youth.

"Ah, Bochra," he murmured afterward, looking into the boy's eyes. He smiled, a little sadly. "You are a terrible person."

Bochra's eyebrows raised.

"You give me such promise, when you know your heart belongs to another." Taibak put a head atop Bochra's head. "You don't love me."

"I do care about you."

Taibak smiled, his point proven.

"You're right." Bochra stared out at the storm that was gathering power around them, rain beginning to break through the curtain of leaves. "I am a terrible person."

He bowed his head, and Taibak touched his cheek. "I love you, selfish person or not. Does it bother you?"

"I chose a long time ago to be like Tomalak, instead of like my father," Bochra told him, staring at the night distantly. "Now look at me. I've betrayed everyone I've ever cared about. My father, my House, that human that saved my life, Tomalak, and now you . . . Am I just going to end up hurting everyone?"

"Perhaps, but you will survive."

"Yes, I'll survive . . . even if alone." Bochra bowed his head, deep in thought. Taibak put a hand on his shoulder, and he looked at the man. "No," he said, "no, I won't hurt everyone. I can still change, can't I? I can still . . . protect some things."

Taibak looked uncertain, but he did not say anything.

"Not everything has to be destroyed, not every trust betrayed, not every person embittered," Bochra said, more to himself than Taibak. "There has to be some light left in the world," he added, thinking of Saeihr, her innocent warmth.

Taibak stood, extended a hand. "It's cold. We should return."

Bochra stood up without his help, brushing his clothing off. "Yes. Will you stay?"

"What conceivable purpose could I make up for staying?" Taibak asked in amusement. "No, I will be on my way home tonight."

Bochra looked disappointed, and then ponderous. They returned to the main complex, having to run through the rain-whipped gardens. Inside, they were both soaked and Bochra complained in the foyer grumpily.

"Bochra, there you are."

Gavik's anxious tone caught Bochra's attention, and he turned. "Fath—er?"

"Look who else has come. It is a busy night."

Bochra's face went blank, as he refused to show the surprise. S'vrian was just removing the hood of a beautiful, shimmery deep purple and gray-trimmed cloak. For a moment, she was as cold as Bochra was indifferent, and then her usual careless smile replaced the look.

"Tomalak insisted I bring the message. He is so busy lately, isn't he?" the woman said, though her pitch was more practiced, less authentic. "May we speak in private?"

"Of course."

Taibak excused himself, though not before giving S'vrian a calculatingly interested glance, and left. Gavik led them to a small parlor and left the two alone behind closed doors.

"There is no message from Tomalak," Bochra stated.

S'vrian stood before the closed doors, and then turned to him. Her eyes were not so round as usual, and showed their almond shape more strikingly because of it. Beneath the purple cloak, she wore a high-necked black dress that nonetheless hugged her figure closely, its color as rich and silky as her high-piled black hair and deep brown eyes. As she flicked some water from the fringe of bangs over her forehead, Bochra saw her nails were long, and the same deep shade of purple as her lips.

"How perceptive of you," she said, her voice drastically changed now that the act of fluffiness was gone; it was slightly husky, very smooth, and dripping with venom. "No, I was the one that wanted to speak to you."

Bochra felt uncertain with this woman now that he knew that he had never seen the real her before. He felt like he had just realized his sure footing was sinking into mud. The youth crossed his arms, let his face betray no feeling.

"There is no matter to discuss anymore," he said. "I have nothing to do with your husband here."

S'vrian stared at him, seeming to be assessing him.

"In fact," Bochra went on, beginning to feel nervous, "Taibak and I-"

"Yes, I had been wondering why Tomalak was disturbed, and seeing you and Taibak together here made it quite obvious," S'vrian interrupted. "That was your intent, wasn't it? To hurt him?"

"What I do and why is not your concern."

"Not mine, but my deyhhan's, is that it?"

"You are not a very secure wife," Bochra said with an arrogant, evil smile, "if you worry about his being possessive of a lowly lover like me."

S'vrian smiled, nodded, accepting the insult without even mild annoyance; she was used to fighting and would not be easy to ruffle. Bochra wondered why a mere sculptor was so hardened. Arguments over Tomalak, who was known to have a roving eye, or something else?

"You have an inexplicable power him, and it justifies even this level of arrogance," S'vrian told him. "While you have not overestimated yourself or my husband, you have made a grave underestimation."

"In disregarding you," Bochra murmured. "So, _ihhai_, is your estimation of me accurate?"

S'vrian flicked a hand carelessly. "You are nothing," she said coldly. "The only power you have is the inflated importance my husband foolishly attaches to you, and that is not even totally your doing. He has always been sentimental when it comes to Gavik's House."

Bochra's lips went taut, and his fist clenched.

"Fortunately, I have no such illusions," S'vrian told him. She stepped forward. "I have crushed much more powerful men, and women, than you, Bochra of the House of Gavik. It is only out of some foolish regard for my deyhhan that I have come here at all, rather than making you nothing but a memory to him within the coming week."

Bochra wanted to make a cynical remark, tear her down, but his instincts had him frozen in place. He did not know precisely why, but he _believed _her. Though a wispy shadow behind Tomalak all these years, Bochra somehow _knew _that her threats were not idle.

"I leave it to _you _to make the moves," S'vrian told him. "You will request reassignment before your scheduled departure, and while you are still here, you will not speak a word to Tomalak again. Is that understood?"

"You can't just order me to change ships!" Bochra exclaimed. "My House serves Tomalak, it always has! I can't just-"

"Believe me, boy, you can," S'vrian said. "And you will." She closed her cloak again, flung the hood over her head. "Everyone says how much like my deyhhan you have become. If that is true, then you would sacrifice even your mentor's foolish sentimental heart for the sake of your pride."

Bochra just stared at her, aghast.

"If it is not true, and you are your weak father's son after all, then I will force you to let go," S'vrian said. Her eyes flashed with heat as she looked at him from the shadow of the hood. "I will not have him burden himself with _another _peasant of this House, not ever again."

She went past the stunned youth, to the doors of the room, and set her hands on the handle.

"Do you even love him?"

S'vrian paused, though she did not look back. "Of course."

Bochra turned to her. "Then why do all this only for your _own _pride?"

S'vrian looked uncertain for a second, but her back was to Bochra, and he did not see. Then, she only shook her head, and opened the doors. "You are too young still to understand."

With that, she was gone.

Alone, Bochra sank into a chair. He realized that his hands were shaking, and balled them into fists. Why had she shaken him so? The power she wielded was that of any successful soldier's wife, and yet . . . why did it feel so much stronger than that? Those eyes were bottomless and unfathomable, colder than even Taibak's. The ice seemed to permeate her soul, all her energy. She was dangerous.

A conversation from those troubled days after Galorndon Core filtered into Bochra's mind then, one he had had with Taibak:

"_The truth is, Arrain Bochra, that the Tal Shiar crackdown came about__** after**__ Tomalak's increase in paranoia. It seemed to mirror his sudden wild suspicions."_

"_Are you saying that Riov Tomalak is-"_

"_No, no! Kholairlh-a deleth mnevher _["Elements protect us"]_! No. I am rather certain that Riov Tomalak is not one of the Tal Shiar, secretly or otherwise. However, he has always been very well-informed as to their movements."_

"_A source, then."_

Bochra's eyes widened. _That's it! _he thought. _Of course, it would be his wife! Only for family would a Tal Shiar agent give information, only for someone they trusted utterly. S'vrian is not just some air-headed sculptor and wife- she is Tomalak's Tal Shiar source!_

The triumph of having figured her out slowly gave way to a bitter sensation of defeat. S'vrian was Tal Shiar, and he could not fight her. No wonder she had such confidence; if he even tried to test her, she would be rid of him in an instant. There was no one in the government that would not take the word of a Tal Shiar agent over the word of some unknown soldier from an unimportant House. She could end his career, end his life, do whatever she pleased with him. Tomalak would not even know what had taken place until it was too late.

Numbed, Bochra just sat staring out the window. All he had wanted was for the leave to end, and to be back with Tomalak on his ship. Now, he would never serve under his longtime Riov again. Tomalak had been right in asking him to keep his distance. Why, why had he ever gone to visit him at his home that day? What a fool he had been! He should have known better, should have trusted his mentor . . .

_'You have no claim to me here. It is for __**your **__own protection.'_

_'I practically __ordered you to never come to me as a lover while we are home, and look at you. Do you thrive on disobedience?'_

Tomalak had merely used the opportunity to punish Bochra lightly, but Bochra had seen the deeper concern in his eyes. He must have known how it may turn out, but he had indulged Bochra nonetheless. Then, he had tried again to warn Bochra of the dangers of being together on Romulus, but Bochra had only been angry and defiant. He had acted like a child, going to drink and letting himself get into all that he did with Taibak. Once again, he had been immature, and it led to Tomalak finding out about his new lover.

_And Tomalak was hurt, _Bochra thought in amazement. _S'vrian would not have intervened unless he was in some kind of difficulty. He was only trying to protect our relationship from her, but I never saw that. I ranted and raved and then I . . . I hurt him._

Bochra felt his eyes moisten, and he buried his face in his hands. _I __**am **__a terrible person. I do hurt everyone, everyone around me._

"T-Tomalak," he murmured to himself. "Tomalak . . . "

A tap at the window made him look glumly. He almost jumped out of his skin to see a face there, beckoning. "Taibak?" He got to his feet and rushed to the window, opening it. "What are you-"

Drenched from the storm, Taibak uselessly brushed his clothes off. "I was too intrigued to go very far, and I came back," he explained. "May I stay the night?"

Bochra smiled gratefully, and embraced him tightly. Taibak looked uncomfortable.

"I'm such a fool!" Bochra cried ruefully. "Such a damned fool!"

Taibak sighed, put a hand on his back comfortingly. After a few minutes, he suggested they go up to Bochra's room, lest Gavik find out their first visitor had not actually left. Bochra was weary, tearful, but he managed to sneak the doctor up to his room. He locked the doors behind them, and then launched into an angry, colorful explanation of his meeting with S'vrian.

By the end, Taibak had removed his wet clothing, changed into one of Bochra's sleep robes, and sat on Bochra's bed, back against the wall. Bochra was in his arms, sulking. "How can you even stand me?" he asked Taibak. "After all you told me you've been through, here _I _am pitying only myself, lamenting the loss of another lover. Don't you hate me?"

"No." Taibak kissed the youth's black hair gently, then looked down at him. "I do think you are foolish to waste yourself on a man like Tomalak, but I became involved with you already aware of your feelings for him."

"But I-"

"Stop the pretense of guilt," Taibak said sternly. "You are not worried about my feelings, or about being a bad person. What really upsets you is being forced away from Tomalak. Am I right?"

Bochra winced, but admitted, "Yes."

"Do you not think this may be for the better?" Taibak asked. "You have an unhealthy attachment to that man, and being the Riov's lover . . . It is no lifestyle for a young soldier of promise."

"Perhaps not, but it should be _my _decision, not that woman's," Bochra said darkly. He wiped the last of his tears away on a sleeve and sat up, cross-legged atop the bed. "She has no right."

"No right?" Taibak echoed in amusement. "Bochra, she is his _wife. _She has every right to object to her husband's betrayal, every right to use what power she may have to end it and protect her pride, or to protect him."

Bochra thought of how he had been struck by the impulse to protect Saeihr, her heart, her feelings, and he glowered. Though he feared S'vrian, he could not blame her for her actions. In truth, he knew that if he were in her position, he would be a lot less lenient.

"You do not find it to be for the better, do you?" Taibak asked. Bochra shook his head stubbornly, and Taibak sighed. "Well, in that case, it may not be so hopeless."

Bochra looked at him. "No?"

Taibak lay back further on the bed, frowning in thought. He did not respond for a while, and then said, "Do not give in just yet. I have some things to inquire about first, however, and . . . to think over."

"You would help me?"

Taibak's eyes went to him. Bochra was staring at his hands quietly, and looked too guilty to feel hopeful. Taibak reached out a hand and drew him onto his chest.

"Why? Why would you-"

Taibak put a finger to his lips. "Bochra, never question illogical choices made by logical beings. Never."

Bochra was a little unsettled, but Taibak distracted him with a kiss. He swiftly flung himself over Bochra, so he knelt over him like a stalking cat, and stroked his face gently. He held the young man's hands down above his head by the wrists, and kissed his neck, nestling his face in his button-less shirt to lick at his chest. The conversation was, clearly, ended.

**8**

Bochra awoke shuddering, and pulled the extra covering rolled up at the foot of the bed over himself. He brought it over his and Taibak's heads, curling up to the other man's warmth. Taibak put an arm around him.

"It really is past time to wake, however," he said.

Bochra grumbled and buried his face in Taibak's shoulder. The half-Vulcan shook his head disapprovingly, but he was bemused and did not really mind. It felt good to be able to relax with another, and in fact, he relished just how inappropriate and senseless the relationship was. He wondered what it said about his father's culture that it had taken something completely wrongful and stupid to make him feel more Romulan than Vulcan. Well, that was what passion was, wasn't it? Inappropriate, messy, and wrongful?

Or was that love?

"Bochra," Taibak murmured. He looked down at the youth, shook his shoulder. "Bochra."

He stirred sleepily. "Mmph. What?"

"Do you love Tomalak?"

Bochra frowned, processing the question. "Well, of course I-"

"No, think about it," Taibak sighed. "Really think about it. Do you love him, or are you used to him? Does he merely suit your fetish? Or is it residual hero-worship from your childhood adulation of him? Is it possible you've become used to the special treatment of being the Riov's boy?"

Bochra lay very still for a moment. Taibak wondered if he had fallen asleep again.

Then, quietly, he said, "What do you think I am, anyway, Taibak?"

"Excuse me?"

Bochra lifted the sheets off of their heads and sat up in bed. He rubbed his eyes, temples. "I am young, and I know I like to play certain games, but . . . I think it makes you, and Tomalak, forget that I _am still _a man. And I don't belong to anyone. I'm certainly not some kept Riov's boy."

Taibak also sat up, slowly. "You can't really be so naïve?"

Bochra looked at him defiantly. "I'm serious, Taibak," he said. "It's different."

Taibak laughed humorlessly. "Different? Do you know that every other Riov's boy, or girl for that matter, has always thought just that very same thing? Do you know how many soldiers waste so much of their youth thinking it will be different for them, better for them, and that they will be taken care of forever?"

"I know it sounds like I am just another delusional male-whore, but-" Bochra stopped to question his own confidence. Why was it so unshakable? What was it he saw in Tomalak's eyes that made him able to believe these things?

"You cannot believe that he loves you!"

"Yes," Bochra said fiercely, glaring at the man, "I do."

Bochra's own resolve was chipped away by the genuine anger he saw on Taibak's face. He had never seen so much hatred on his face, and he withered a little beneath that piercing, cold glare.

"Is it for the sake of ego?" Taibak asked in a whisper that was more frightening than any shout he could have mustered. "Is that why you fool yourself into believing this fantasy of true love? Because you cannot accept what you are, what place you have?"

Bochra's eyes narrowed. "And just what place is that?" he asked loudly.

"The Riov's boy," Taibak insisted. "A simple, admiring, placating love slave that is rewarded by being coddled and protected. The best of them have garnered great political favors, it is true, but they never end up in real command. They end up too accustomed to asserting the will of another, and with none of their own."

"That is _not _what I am!" Bochra shouted. "How dare you-"

"How dare I tell you the truth?"

Bochra lifted his fists, but Taibak quickly seized them and held them in his own. His face leaned close, close enough to kiss, and Bochra glowered at him.

"How can you even begin to argue it?" Taibak asked in that voice that was so soft with fury. "I could take you over my knees right now, if it suited me."

"No, you couldn't," Bochra said hotly. "I wouldn't _let _you."

"But you would let Tomalak."

"Tomalak could do the same to _any _soldier aboard his ship, if it suited him," Bochra pointed out. He snatched his wrists away. "No one would refuse a Riov anything."

"True, but he _would not_ do it with just anyone," Taibak said. "Not unless he knew they had no objection to it."

"I remember objecting plenty to his first- discipline," Bochra muttered, leaning back against the pillows.

"And in what way?" Taibak asked, smiling just a tiny bit. He leaned on an elbow beside Bochra, toyed with Bochra's disheveled hair. "Did you endure silently, as a man should, and act like a soldier? No, no, I'm certain you sobbed and wailed as you do so cutely, and clung to him for comfort. Obviously, you gave in to his demand. Honestly, Bochra, how could it _not _have led to sex that way?"

Bochra blushed, looking mortified. Why the hell did Taibak have to be so damned perceptive?

"You gave yourself to him," Taibak said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You were happy to, I'm sure. Your longtime idol, whom had just saved your life, just almost declared war for you . . . You've always wished you belonged to him rather than your blood father, and now you do."

"I begin to realize why it is you live alone," Bochra told Taibak sullenly.

Taibak shrugged. "The truth is often unpopular on this proud world of ours, yes. I was never able to fully adapt to the sensitivities of this culture. I find it difficult to support lies, even ones that are necessary to personal pride." He sat up, took Bochra by the shoulders. "If I sound harsh, I apologize."

Bochra looked at him warily.

"I only tell you all this so that you know what you will be returning to," Taibak said. "Think of the way that he treats you. The way he hits you, when you don't enjoy it." He pressed the back of one hand to the cheek Tomalak had struck just one day ago; the bruise had faded, but he knew the memory had not. "Think of it all honestly, and tell me, do you really still want him?"

Bochra thought of his last day with his commander, in the training building on his estate. He remembered indulging in these doubts in the smugness of knowing he had Tomalak and always would. With that security taken away, he could see more clearly now.

"Yes, I do," he answered finally. "I love him. I know you will never believe this, but he also loves me."

Taibak was silent, just stared at the youth until Bochra became unnerved.

"I won't apologize for it, not to you or anyone," he said tentatively.

"I don't expect you to," Taibak said. "Come here."

He drew the youth into his arms, kissed his forehead. "I will help you," he said. "If you wish to sabotage yourself, it is of no concern of mine. There are limits to my irrationality, even concerning such a hatefully infectious brat like you."

Bochra frowned a little at him, wondering if Taibak intended that to sound as insulting as it did. Taibak had no malice on his face, though his eyes remained vaguely sad. He gave Bochra one last, pressing kiss, and then patted his arm before climbing out of bed.

"I will go on ahead," he said, finding his clothing and dressing. "Come to my apartment in an hour or two. You will have your precious Tomalak back."

"But why?" Bochra insisted, staring at him. "Why would you-"

"Because I _like _you," Taibak said, looking at him; despite the statement, his manner was as aloof as ever. He puzzled over it for a moment. "That is quite a new experience for me. I've never felt even remotely attached to anyone on this world."

"O-oh."

"Do not be flattered," Taibak said with a faint smile. "It may merely be an unhealthy addiction on my part, the way you are addicted to Tomalak's abuse, the way he is addicted to your- whatever it is you give him."

Bochra smirked. "It's still flattering to be intoxicating, poisonous or not."

Taibak looked almost as if he might laugh, but he refrained. Bochra climbed out of the bed, dragging the sheets with him, and wrapped his arms around the man's neck. "Why do you stop yourself?" he asked the half-Vulcan. "It isn't so bad to feel, is it?"

"No, perhaps not," Taibak said softly. However, he drew away, and finished dressing. Bochra sat back down on the bed, sighing to himself as he watched him. It must be strange to be a Vulcan. He could not imagine the strain of repressing his emotions, carefully keeping his actions apathetic; he had a hard enough time dealing with the discipline of the Romulan military, and Tomalak's orders.

"But thank goodness," Taibak added after a very long pause, "it will be over soon."

He gave a puzzled Bochra a brief kiss on the lips, and then slipped out of the room. Bochra did not like the sound of it, but he could not think of a thing to say. He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Taibak, Saeihr, Tomalak . . . even S'vrian, and his father . . .

_How many times have I hurt them?_ Bochra wondered. _How many times __**will I **__hurt them in the future? I feel like we're all careening off some unseen cliff, towards some unknown pain. . . Nothing here is life or death, of course, but still . . . _

_Still . . . _

Knowing that sitting around thinking about it would do more harm than good, Bochra pulled himself out of bed. He stretched his arms and went to the closet to get some fresh clothing. His usual morning ritual was a little sluggish, but it kept him busy and away from his own thoughts.

After dressing and getting himself together, Bochra went outside the main building for some fresh air. He put his little, empty, unimportant lesser House out of his mind, staring out at the view of the city in the distance, the Capitol. How had he been hating his birthplace lately, because of all the drama it had brought into his life! But staring at it in the late sunlight, feeling the refreshing bite of the breeze, and thinking of the upcoming festival, he could not find it in himself to hate it. It was home. It was beautiful.

A sound caught Bochra's attention, and he turned. The side garden appeared empty, and for a moment he thought the wind had carried the noise from elsewhere. Then, he heard the soft, restrained sound again, and he started to look around.

The family's longtime servant woman, Rhioa, was standing, back against the outside wall of the servant's quarters. She stared out at the Capitol as well, but she was not as complacent as Bochra. The woman was uncharacteristically miserable, obviously fighting to hold back tears, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She shut her eyes on an exhale as Bochra came around the corner, staring at her in confused shock.

"Rhioa?"

Rhioa looked around at him in humiliated surprise. "E-erei'Hfirh [Romulan: "Heir of the House"], I-I didn't know you were awake," she gasped. With the fast gestures of a servant used to hiding their emotions quickly, she dried the corners of her eyes, smoothed her plain gray tunic. "Breakfast is going to be ready soon. Please, come inside. Come."

He caught her hand as she gestured to the house, held it gently. "Rhioa, what is the matter?"

Rhioa's large brown eyes went wider. "Nothing is wrong," she said, her voice in too high a register for her words to be true. "Nothing."

"Rhioa." Bochra took her by the shoulders. "How long have we known one another?"

"With all due respect, erei'Hfirh, we do not really know one another," Rhioa said curtly, bowing out of his grasp. "It would not be proper for us to."

"You are a valued member of my father's House, which will one day be my House," Bochra told her. "It is improper for us to not know one another, as friends, then, if not as blood family. Please, tell me, Rhioa, what troubles you?"

Rhioa looked at him, and despite his outward calm, Bochra felt his heart jump in his chest. Did she know of his affair with Taibak, or with Tomalak? It would certainly be reason to think the entire House was doomed, if its heir, its erei'Hfirh, had such a fatal flaw in his mind, his character. Bochra held his breath, feeling the weight of all his wrong choices bearing down on him with such finality that he almost _knew _Rhioa must be aware of his-

"Your di'Ranov troubles me," Rhioa admitted.

Though it should have worried him, Bochra felt the pressure float off his shoulders, and had to stop himself from smiling in relief.

"Is my father ill?" he asked, having to force the worry into his voice.

It must have sounded genuine, because Rhioa rushed to ease his fears. "No, no," she said, "nothing so dire. It is only the sentimental concerns of an old woman, Bochra. You should pay no mind."

"Ignore the wisdom of one who has been as much as family?" Bochra said with a warm smile. "Never, Rhioa."

Rhioa looked into his eyes, and then shook her head. She looked over the yard, then headed inside, beckoning for him to follow her. He obeyed, knowing that Rhioa was the sort of person who found it easier to talk while busy, as it made everything sound passing, casual.

"Since you have grown and left for your station aboard Riov Tomalak's ship, your father has become- I suppose you could say stagnant," Rhioa explained. They came inside the main building, swept through the halls. "You may not be aware of it, but he has actually been very useful to the military since his injury; his mind is sharp, and his tactics always sound. They have always appreciated his help."

"No, I did not know that," Bochra murmured thoughtfully. "He never says a thing about his career since the accident."

"I believe he has never felt worthy of boasting of his accomplishments since being injured," Rhioa said. "He views himself as worthless, no matter what anyone else tells him is reality. Despite his injury, grave as it is, this is actually what demeans his life the most."

Bochra opened his mouth to question why she had never told him these things before, but then shut it again. It was improper talk to pass between servant to the heir of the House, and he knew it. Not everyone put emotion before common sense, as he was so prone to doing lately.

"But he is **not** worthless, Bochra!" Rhioa said with such sudden fierceness that Bochra gaped. "Every day the old ways soften just a tiny bit more, and he is not as condemned as he believes. Yes, he is flawed, but still a brilliant, worthy man! There are still those that appreciate him, even a few that admire him, and . . . respect him. If he chose not to end his life, then why does he let it end this way? If he wished to save himself for the future, why does he not _live_ his future?"

Bochra was beginning to notice familiar tones in her voice, and he became intrigued. "What would you have him do, Rhioa?"

"Well, he does work," Rhioa said quietly. "Still, it cannot be enough for him to feel that he is still living. He should . . . Well, I wish he would find a woman to take as ailhun."

"Ailhun!"

"Well, why not a wife?"

"Why not you?"

Rhioa stuttered with a start. "What are you- That is- Wh-"

"Rhioa, in the entire House, I cannot think of a woman more like a mother to me during childhood," Bochra told her. "You have been all but the matron of the House. When everyone else deserted us or served without caring about this disgraced House, you alone have striven to maintain its standard and its name. You have loved this House more than its own family."

"I am loyal, of course, but-"

"And though I have not taken the time to notice it before now, you . . . you love di'Ranov. Don't you, Rhioa?"

"As a servant, of course, but it would be improper to-"

"Oh, to hell with what is proper or not!" Bochra exclaimed so loudly that Rhioa actually jumped. He was fed up with walking on eggshells one's entire life simply to save face. "Are we as the Vulcans are, then? Slaves to what is considered right and sensible? No! We are not supposed to be tools of reason, damn it!"

"erei'Hfirh!" gasped Rhioa. "Please."

"I'm sorry," sighed Bochra, rubbing his temple. "I've been at odds with what is proper or not lately. I'm not angry with you, Rhioa, only . . . Are we not supposed to be passionate? Are we not supposed to be free to do as we feel?"

"Ie."

"Then why do we cage ourselves with standards and fear and judgment?" Bochra asked wearily. "Why is everything a political scheme? We may as well write our own version of Starfleet's testament of decency laws, or give up ever following our emotions as the Vulcans did."

"Bochra-"

Bochra put his hands lightly upon her shoulders. "If you worry for my di'Ranov, then tell him so. Tell him the way you feel, whether it is improper or not. Trust me, Rhioa, he loves and respects you as much as I do. He will not hold it against you."

"I . . . Hm." Rhioa smiled a little. "Honestly, I was going to tell him."

"You were?"

"Yes. I have worried for him so much that even if it caused him to hate me, I . . . I would risk it," Rhioa said. "Yes, Bochra, I love him, and because I do, I would risk anything I have, everything I am, to help him."

Bochra smiled warmly at her. "Rhioa."

"I only hope you do not hate me," the servant said. "I do not wish to take the place of your ri'Nanov [Romulan: "Mother"], I never-"

"Rhioa, I would be honored if you would be my ri'Nanov by marriage."

Rhioa's eyes widened, giving her a youthful look despite her middle age.

"You only have my blessing in all you do for this House," Bochra said genuinely. "Never doubt that."

"Bochra . . . khlinae arhem [Romulan: "Thank you" – Formal, inferior to superior]."

Bochra gave her cheek a kiss, and bid her goodbye. He thought upon this new development in his home life, as he walked through the premises aimlessly. Over the past weeks, he had been too wrapped up in himself to think about anyone around him.

_No, I've always been that way, _he realized. _I am the heir of the House, and I never cared to look twice at it. I let the disgrace of my father blind me to everything here. I gave up in a way worse than he did. He gave up after his past ended, but I gave up before my future even began. I never once planned to overcome the disgrace, never once thought to know my father as a man instead of as a failure, never thought about Rhioa's feelings. I simply never cared._

_All this time, I've been running from the way they look at me. I try to escape the hope and expectations in their eyes when they see me. All I think about is the way __**I**__ am affected, never how my actions affect them._

_No wonder I like being with Tomalak. I can remain a child without responsibility, and without guilt since he punishes it away for me. Taibak was right . . . I do like being taken care of. _

Bochra wandered through the home, until he came to the top floors. He climbed up a ladder that led to an attic room he had used as a playroom in his youth. The last time he had set foot in the now-dusty and time-worn hideout, his mother had still been with the family, and his father had been whole.

Bochra looked around wistfully at the forgotten toys, feeling tall beneath the low eaves. He knelt and dusted off a box of the things, picking through wooden soldiers and metal ships. Though he merely intended to browse, he ended up sitting on the floor and sifting with interest through his old soldier figures.

There was the sound of footsteps on the ladder. Bochra looked up and was shocked as Tomalak came up into the room. The man had to stoop a bit at the shoulders as he came beneath the eaves, and then stood straight, looking down at his troubled and troublesome lover. A wind rustled the roof above them, a soft rattling sound sighing around them.

Tomalak smiled a little as their eyes met. With his eyes large and staring up at him with that anxiety and expectancy, Bochra looked hardly changed from his childhood.

"I realize that I may treat you as a child sometimes, even now," Tomalak said, "but you are aware that you are still too old to be playing with toys, aren't you?"

Bochra remembered the figures in his hands and shoved them away, blushing. "I was only . . . I mean . . . " He sighed, leaning against the wall, arms resting on his knees. He picked up one of the figures again, turning it over in his hands. " . . . Things were so much simpler back then."

"Mm. I suppose they were." Tomalak sat down beside him on the dusty floor.

"I was only a stupid child, and you were only a teacher," Bochra went on. "Right and wrong, nothing in between. No questions or doubts or complications." He sighed, lips drawing into a thin line as his eyes watered. "You always hear it said in dramas and literature, and you laugh at it . . . But honestly, Tomalak, how _did _we end up like this?"

"You are still too young to be asking such a question, Bochra," Tomalak said wearily. He reached over and put a hand on the youth's shoulder. " . . . However, the answer to that would be: I allowed it. No matter what you wanted, how you disobeyed- regardless of consent or persuasion, _**I**_ am the adult and the superior between us. It was my place to end it, and I . . . I have had my chances, time and again, yet I always choose . . . I always choose to prolong it."

Bochra nodded quietly, staring at the figures in his hands. Tomalak picked one up from the floor, looked it over disinterestedly.

"And you know, Bochra, I always will."

Bochra's eyes widened. "But- But S'vrian-"

"S'vrian will have to make her peace with it," Tomalak said. "She has before. I don't see why this affair would complicate our marriage any more than previous dalliances of mine, and hers, have."

Bochra frowned in confusion, turning his gaze back to his discarded toys. After a moment, he realized how Tomalak had been able to come to him: he was not risking S'vrian's wrath, or saying goodbye, he simply did not know of her threats. She must not have told her husband of her confrontation with his lover the past night, and clearly she did not expect Bochra to speak a word of it, either.

"S'vrian is more dangerous than she seems, isn't she?" Bochra asked cautiously.

Tomalak's eyes were guarded, and he did not look at the young man. "Why do you say that?"

"Riov Tomalak . . . " Bochra drew a breath and exhaled slowly. "The Tal Shiar followed your suspicions regarding Alidar Jarok, and then backed down upon your word to preserve his public image. You were happy to be with me here until S'vrian somehow found out after a day, despite your two having an open, modern marriage. And why such a loose arrangement in the first place? True, the emptiness of space deployment sometimes requires keeping extramarital company, but might S'vrian's career also sometimes require extramarital dalliances, as you call them?"

Tomalak was silent. His head was bowed some, throwing a shadow that hid his expression.

"Spying would require such connections," Bochra went on. "Wouldn't it?"

Tomalak got to his feet and walked over to the small, circular window on the far side of the room. He drew aside the round wood shutters, staring out into the gray day.

"You do know that," Tomalak finally spoke, "Tal Shiar are not allowed to reveal themselves. The rule is without exception."

He paced the width of the small room. "The occupation is not to be revealed to a parent or a sibling- not to a spouse, nor a child. You mentioned dramas and literature before. Well, certainly you have seen the age-old tale of love compromised by the unyielding secrecy of our secret police."

"Are you saying it is merely my imagination, then?"

"No," Tomalak said softly. " . . . No, I am not saying that. I am saying that whether you are right or not . . . is a question I can never answer."

"That's answer enough." Bochra stood. "Tomalak, the implication-"

Tomalak waved a hand. "I have implied nothing."

"Hypothetically, then!" Bochra exclaimed in exasperation. "Hypothetically, if S'vrian _were_ Tal Shiar . . . she could destroy me over this."

"If she believed it were important enough, she could," Tomalak admitted. "However, she has never been so extreme before. Why would she now?"

_That is the question, _Bochra mused to himself. _The fear beneath the coldness in her eyes . . . what caused it? Why would she fear __**me**__? I am merely a concubine, a male one at that! I cannot threaten her place in Tomalak's House, nor in his heart . . . _

_Can I?_

Out loud, Bochra could only confess, "I don't know."

"Precisely."

"But she is still a danger!"

"She is," Tomalak said quietly. He looked at Bochra sharply. "But she is not the only viper in the nest."

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you think I came here in the first place?" Tomalak drew nearer to him, catching his face lightly by the chin. "Hm?"

Bochra swallowed, suddenly very small beneath that steely gaze. "I-I thought perhaps you were, ah . . . jealous of-of Taibak."

"Jealous! Ha!" Tomalak released the youth's face and paced away from him. He rubbed his forehead briefly, shaking his head. "Jealous? No! No, no, no, boy, don't you understand? I came to stop him from destroying you!"

**9**

Across the city, S'vrian was standing amidst the gardens of her home. She walked by the training grounds, over the small arched bridge over the thin trickle of river, small feet delicately encased in silken gray slippers. She wore slim black pants on this cool day, and a gray hooded cowl over her flowing raven hair. Her lithe silhouette melded into the grayness of the day, her motions as fluid as the falling rain.

There was not a rustle in the trees nor a whisper of feet in the grass as she walked. No motion save the wind and water stirred the garden. Yet she was here moving through it- as was another.

S'vrian stopped on the gravel-strewn walkway leading towards the main building of the house. Several paces ahead of her was the second figure to appear from the motionless cover of the gardens. The man was tall, svelte, and wore dark blue shoes and cowl. A restless wind stirred their clothes around their completely still frames, and they allowed it to pass before breaking the silence.

S'vrian's red lips smirked humorlessly at the corners. "Heh. Since I witnessed you sneaking around the House of Gavik, I had hoped and wished that you would not involve yourself."

The man stepped forward two paces. "I apologize for the surprise and disappointment, S'vrian."

"Disappointment, perhaps, but not surprise," S'vrian replied. "After all, how could you have helped yourself? Hm? How could you pass up the opportunity to take something so personal of my husband's, after he stole something so dear to you?"

Silence.

"Tell me," S'vrian demanded. "Tell me how you could have stayed uninvolved in such an affair, Taibak?"

Taibak came closer. They stood merely a couple of feet apart now, staring coolly at one another through the shifting curtain of rain.

"Believe it or not, I did not involve myself out of a need for revenge, S'vrian," Taibak said softly. "Will I always blame Tomalak for what became of Ta'hrl? Yes. Will I always desire to see Tomalak defeated and broken by life, the way he left my younger brother? Of course. However, it is not my place to bring about such bereavement. At least . . . not yet."

"So you say," S'vrian said, "but you _did _attempt to steal away the boy."

"My involvement with Bochra has nothing to do with Tomalak."

S'vrian raised one thin, dark eyebrow, looking amused. "No?"

"No."

"Am I to believe, then, that this boy-whore simply inspires such wrongful attractions from all men?" S'vrian asked doubtfully. "That Gavik's sniveling little son is simply that irresistible?"

"He is, in a way," Taibak said blandly. "Bochra is a rare blend of both strength and submission. It is very hard to find someone with courage and strength that, instead of being broken and forced to submit, rationally _chooses _to submit. He is his own person, yet he can follow another comfortably. It is a very enticing personality."

"Even in a man?"

Taibak blinked, but his expression did not twitch.

"You have no qualms over having men now?" S'vrian asked. "Funny. I seem to recall quite a number of choice words you had for my husband when he took on a male lover the first time, and none of your 'opinions' were tolerant or open-minded."

"I was younger then, less mature," Taibak said simply. "I have evolved as a person since then."

S'vrian laughed, a cold yet musical sound. "Ah, I see. So this 'evolved person' you have become simply has happened to fall in love with the same young man Tomalak has?"

"Hm. 'Love' is a strong word," Taibak said quietly. "I would not say I love him."

"No, because that would be . . . illogical, wouldn't it?"

Taibak's eyes narrowed slightly.

"But you care for him," S'vrian said skeptically. "You would stand in for him, against _me_, simply so he can be happy with Tomalak?"

"I would."

"How generous of you." S'vrian walked around Taibak once, then faced him again. "To step aside so graciously and allow my deyhhan to seduce and ruin another young, bright-eyed soldier. To not attempt to sabotage either of them at all, though you have ample opportunity to finally get your long-due revenge."

"As I said," Taibak said with quiet coolness, "I have matured."

S'vrian leaned her fox-like face up into Taibak's, close enough that her breath warmed the rain-chilled air. "Have you?"

Taibak met her dark eyes evenly.

"No." S'vrian stepped back from him, shaking her head. "I don't believe it. Were you not too fixated with your Vulcan-worshiping studies, you would have been a better Tal Shiar agent than I am. You would have followed in your adoptive father's footsteps."

"And have been your superior?" Taibak added, considering. "Perhaps. But as I have worked my entire life to convince everyone of, I am _not_ willing to be a Tal Shiar spy."

"Instead you serve only your own agendas," S'vrian said knowingly. "So what is your agenda this time, Taibak? What game are you playing with Bochra and Tomalak?"

"Do you really think that is all it has ever been, S'vrian?" Taibak asked. "A game?"

S'vrian's face hardened. "Then it is a vendetta?"

Taibak was quiet. He walked past her, to the banks of the small river nearby. His eyes fell upon the rain-riddled waters, through them to the rocks beneath the glassy surface. Some small silvery fish were circling around idly.

"I watched Tomalak destroy my brother slowly, a day at a time," Taibak said. "He took a promising young soldier just starting Serona, and picked apart his ego a piece at a time. Ta'hrl can no longer even think for himself, so strong is his co-dependency complex."

"Some would say discovering your history was what broke Ta'hrl," S'vrian told the troubled man. "That he felt betrayed that your father allowed him to love a half-Vulcan adopted son as a brother."

"He disowned me as a brother after that. I will not deny we had our problems," Taibak said. For the first time, pain washed over his face, and he paused for a moment. "However, it did not affect his psyche. I saw him enter Serona, and I saw a fragmented shell of him move on from it. I saw, and I knew that his abusive relationship with Tomalak was the cause."

Taibak turned to the woman before she could speak. "You cannot deny it, not when he is repeating the same cycle with his best friend's son even as we speak. And how many young females has he done the same to? No, S'vrian, your _deyhhan_ is beyond defense."

"I was not going to defend him," S'vrian said airily. "Taibak, you and I have had a long contention over Tomalak, but you have never been my personal enemy. I admit to even having a perverse fascination with you, as you are the only weakness your father possesses."

"The irony is fascinating, isn't it?" mused Taibak. "The leader of the Tal Shiar, harboring all this time a half-Vulcan in his own House." A smile crossed his lips faintly as he looked at S'vrian directly. "It is a pity that no one would ever believe such a thing."

"Or that those who would fall under your father's power to be eliminated."

Taibak's smile would have frozen thinner blood. "That, as well."

"For one half-chained to reason, you certainly are not above using your father's irrationality to your benefit," S'vrian said bitterly. "I may have allowed you to wield his power over me at times in the past, but in this matter, I cannot oblige you."

"No?"

"No."

Taibak was quiet, considering for a moment. " . . . And why is that, S'vrian? I do not plot against Tomalak's political career, though I certainly could. I do not intend to damage the honor of your House. I only desire to protect Bochra."

"Why?"

"My reasons are none of your concern."

"They are if you are asking me to simply share out my husband!"

Taibak cocked his head slightly, his gaze piercingly sharp. S'vrian turned her face, scowling at her loss of temper.

"Neither of you have had much problem sharing one another out from time to time," Taibak said. "Why has this affair rattled you so, S'vrian? What threat could an insignificant near-child like Bochra possibly pose to your place at Tomalak's side?"

"None, of course," S'vrian sneered. "I merely dislike the idea of Tomalak involving himself with another man, that is all."

"It merely amused you when he took Ta'hrl," Taibak said with a shred of heat in his tone. "Have you 'evolved' as well, S'vrian? Evolved into bigoted hatred?"

"It is unnatural and perverse."

"What sexual affair is not?" Taibak shrugged. "No, S'vrian, you are not stupid, nor are you impractical. There is a specific reason for your desire to separate the two. What is it?"

S'vrian did not answer, her small white teeth grinding against each other in her mouth.

"What do you see between them that threatens you?"

S'vrian could not wholly keep the fear from her face as she looked at him, trying to discern how much the man might have guessed. She chided herself mentally for treading this territory. Why had she not simply left Tomalak and that brat Bochra to their business? She was acting too defensively, raising more suspicions than was necessary, and now she had this shark onto her trail! Why had she not simply kept out of it, opted for some more subtle form of revenge on Tomalak or Bochra? Why had she let her feelings dictate her actions?

_Because I am not a Vulcan, damn it! _S'vrian thought fiercely. She turned from Taibak, drawing a frustrated breath as she watched the rushing, clear waters. _I know it is the duty of the Tal Shiar to walk that fine line between repression and mere control. I know I must conduct myself better. But I . . . _

The lady's thin, dark brows knit together. _I suppose I always wished secretly that . . . that this would never happen. We both always knew it might to either of us. We knew that, and we made our choices regardless. _

_Why is it so hard to accept all the things I so easily agreed to back then? Why is it so difficult to let the pretense be truly pretense? Why is it so hard to let . . . him go?_

Taibak sucked in a breath suddenly, and S'vrian shut her eyes. He had figured it out, of course. She had known he would. All that was left to see what he intended to do with his knowledge.

_It would be so easy to deal with, if Taibak were not the son of the Tal Shiar Chairman. So easy to simply kill him . . . but the bastard is untouchable. _

_This is all Tomalak's fault! That fool! He is the one that seduced Taibak's brother Ta'hrl in the first place, making a dangerous foe of Taibak. Now he takes this Bochra, who is stupid enough to be seduced by Taibak! This man already had too much power over Tomalak, and now he has even more. _

"You wish to separate Tomalak and Bochra before they become too close," Taibak said, barely more than a murmur. His eyes lit as he lifted them from the waters to the gray sky over the trees. "He _does _threaten you, your hold over Tomalak, doesn't he?"

S'vrian was silent, fuming to herself.

"He threatens your very tenuous hold over your _deyhhan_," Taibak said, emphasizing the word with a touch of sarcasm. "Or perhaps . . . he has a hold over Tomalak that you _never_ have had."

Their eyes met, and Taibak was close again. He took S'vrian's face by the chin and tipped it up towards his gently. "And never _will _have."

S'vrian turned her face, scowling.

"You believe that Tomalak and Bochra will form a life bond," Taibak said. "That they will form the life bond you and he only pretended to have."

S'vrian shut her eyes and bowed her head, unable to fight the shame. Taibak came close to her, staring at her with that irritatingly fascinated expression of his.

"And then, you will have the Tal Shiar, and you will have the House you share," Taibak continued, "but you will not have your deyhhan, not truly. You will never even have a sliver of his affection again."

"That damned boy!" S'vrian shouted in anguish. "Years, Taibak! Years! Our House, our union, our _son_- and what will it all mean? Nothing! Because of that damned boy!"

"No, S'vrian," Taibak said with cool calmness. "Because of you two, and the lie you perpetuated."

S'vrian sighed, leaning against a tree. Her eyes raised to the sky, though she saw nothing. "It was always going to happen, wasn't it?" she said wearily, more to herself than to Taibak. "To one of us or the other. I suppose I . . . I always just wished . . . "

"That it would happen to you both, together," Taibak surmised. "That the lie would become the truth."

"But that won't ever happen now."

"No," Taibak affirmed. "It won't."

S'vrian turned her face and looked at him. She looked worn, more her age. "It won't happen for you, either. Not with that boy, who was the only one you've ever seemed to care about. And so, we will both be the ones left behind- empty as your mother's race, as the dead ones."

Taibak could not argue. He leaned against the tree beside her, and the two stared out at the sky. Neither could find anything further to say.

**10**

Bochra was quiet, frowning deeply. He thought of the quiet, anxious, weak youth he had crossed paths with the other day over sodas: Ta'hrl. He had been almost subservient to Lai. Now, Bochra realized why he had kept looking at him so curiously- Ta'hrl had been interested in Tomalak's new lover, perhaps even jealous.

Tomalak came before Bochra, who was sitting atop a stack of crates and boxes. "Do you understand what I am telling you?" he asked. "Taibak requested transfer to my ship _after_ Ta'hrl left it. He has been following me, intent on avenging the damage he believes I did to his younger brother. His vendetta has lasted years, and you, Bochra, are now a part of it."

Bochra shook his head. "Tomalak, I . . . No, I can't believe he'd use me like-"

The youth stopped in mid-sentence, words fading from his tongue as his thoughts drowned their sound out. He remembered the machine Taibak had built, using the information regarding Geordi LaForge Bochra had given him. He remembered his first emotion when he had seen Tomalak on the call screen: betrayal. Taibak's cold, hard words drifted through his mind,

"_Then what __**did **__you think it would be used for? Don't pretend to be so naïve, it doesn't suit you, Bochra. … What did you honestly think? You knew it would be used against the Federation, if it could be. You simply did not care. Do not forget that. Your priorities were to win back the affection of your precious Tomalak, and you sold out that man. And again, why not? Who would put a human over the approval of their own?"_

"_I'm leaving."_

"_Then, go."_

Tomalak watched Bochra's expression change. "You begin to realize that he would, in fact, betray you, do you?"

"I . . . I don't know," Bochra sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. "I don't know."

Tomalak sat beside Bochra. "No? Then tell me, has he tried to warn you away from me?" he asked knowingly. "Told you I would use you up, then throw you away? That you would never be more than a slave to my whims- never more than the Riov's boy?"

Bochra's eyes widened, and he bowed his head.

"I imagine our Hiifvehi'Saehne has been fluctuating between a desire to protect you as he failed to protect his brother, and wanting to destroy you for loving me," Tomalak mused. "I should have seen it sooner and warned you, but I never thought that you would actually- I'm sorry."

"No, I am," Bochra sighed. "How could I be so stupid?"

"You were not stupid, only hurt and depressed," Tomalak said, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "I left you that way."

"You had your reasons-"

"No, I- No. S'vrian is not a reason enough for me to have abandoned you the way I did."

"She _is_ your ailhun." Bochra stared at his hands. "The one whom you share a life bond with. As it is, you have allowed me enough liberties, given me more than enough."

Tomalak was quiet. It had been difficult enough to admit the truth to himself, and it had taken years for him to even begin to acknowledge it. To say the words aloud, to confess such a thing . . .

But it was time, and he knew it. This moment had been careening towards them since his heart had been tied into so many knots during the Galorndon Core incident.

"It is no more than you are entitled to."

Bochra looked at his commander in puzzlement. "How can you say that? I am only-"

"The man I love, and-" Tomalak paused for long, uncertain moments. He had never looked so raw before, so lost. He turned to Bochra and took the youth's hands in his own. "And the one whom I share a life bond with."

Bochra stared at him blankly, the words hardly registering. "You- What?"

The youth slid his hands out of Tomalak's, getting to his feet. "That isn't possible," he breathed. "You can't- I- What of S'vrian? You can't share such a bond with two people, you-"

"I don't," Tomalak told him. "Bochra, why do you think S'vrian is so threatened by this one affair out of all the affairs I have ever had? What does she see between us that threatens her, the woman of my House, so? Could it be anything _less_ than a life bond?"

"But-"

"S'vrian and I never shared one," Tomalak explained. "We were young, ambitious. We knew that a union between us could garner us much political power: I was honored and respected by the public and politicians for my military service and my House, while she has much critical secret information and reputation in the Tal Shiar. Together, we knew we could most likely become the first family of Romulus."

"You mean, you aspire to be the Praetor?"

Tomalak nodded calmly. "Yes, Bochra, I do."

"And you both married only for that reason?" Bochra asked incredulously. "You have a son!"

"Yes, a son that will stand to reap great benefits if S'vrian and I achieve our goals," Tomalak pointed out. "The union may not have been about love, but we are very fond of our family, our House, and our plans have benefited us both very greatly. There have been no complications- until you."

Bochra stared at him in alarm. "_Me_?"

"Yes, you." Tomalak smiled a little, standing up before the youth. He touched the side of his face, down to his neck. "I have loved you all these years, Bochra. I have tried to keep it from going further than that, but all was futile. We are bonded."

"Can that happen?" Bochra asked, a little hoarsely. "Can a- a man be bonded with another? Another man, I mean- Can two men, ah-"

"It happens," Tomalak cut him off. " . . . It is unpleasant and complicated, but it has been known to happen."

Bochra slumped onto a crate again. "Are you sure?"

"Aren't you?" Tomalak shot back. "It was the strength of _your_ attachment to me that first made me consider it, and now you can't believe it?"

"No, I believe that I am bonded to you," Bochra said quietly. "What I can't believe is that you are bonded to me."

Tomalak raised his eyebrows. "Really?" He gave a short, strained laugh. "What is so hard to believe about that? What am I but an old, hateful man, anyway?"

"Tomalak!" Bochra exclaimed, shocked to see the Riov berating himself.

Tomalak waved a hand. "There is no need for pride or strength between us now," he pointed out. "We are both simply men in an incredibly, painfully intimate relationship- with no way out, might I add."

Despite himself, Bochra smiled. Tomalak caught the look.

"Oh, and I suppose that pleases you, does it?"

"Well, all this has come about because you tried to deny our relationship," Bochra said, moving closer to Tomalak. "Now you can't deny it, can you?"

They leaned into a tender kiss.

"No," Tomalak said when he drew away, taking Bochra's face into his hands. "I cannot deny it." Their lips met again. "Mm. However, I just may be able to spank a little of that smugness out of you."

Tomalak swatted the youth a few times, and Bochra just laughed. He climbed over him, and their kisses became more intense. The crates fell, and they fell with them to the floor.

Bochra was surprised by the effect the revelation had had on him. He expected to be ecstatically happy, but the emotion ran deeper than that. He was content. Being together felt right in a way it never had before. It was natural and organic.

_The rightness itself is almost wrongful, _Bochra thought through a haze of feeling. _It not only feels that I've lost myself, it feels as if we've both lost ourselves in something more than us- a whole greater than the sum of its parts. How is this possible? I never thought I could feel so much, and yet the feelings are simple. They are so simple, so pure . . . _

_Because I've felt them all along. That's it, isn't it? That is the definition of a life bond: a connection that is forever. It is there from the start, and will be there in the end, and grows all the time. I should have seen it sooner. I did feel it, but I never thought it was possible, so I simply called it love. But no mere love could match this._

_I love Saeihr. Tomalak loves S'vrian. Who knows who or what Taibak loves. But none of those loves can match this._

_And no love will come in the way of it._

**Fehill  
**

**(End)**


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